IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  Institut  canadien  de  microreproductions  historiques 

1980 


Technical  Notes  /  Notes  techniques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
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D 


Coloured  covers/ 
Couvertures  de  couleur 


D 


Coloured  pages/ 
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D 
D 
D 


Coloured  maps/ 

Cartes  gdographiques  en  couleur 


Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 
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Reliure  serrd  (peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou 
de  la  distortion  le  long  de  la  marge 
int6rieure) 


D 


D 


Coloured  plates/ 
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Show  through/ 
Transparency 


Pages  damaged/ 
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Q] 


Additional  comments/ 
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D 
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Reli6  avec  d'autres  documents 


D 


Pagination  incorrect/ 
Erreurs  de  pagination 


Pages  missing/ 

Des  pages  manquent 


D 


Cover  title  missing/ 

Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 


D 


Maps  missing/ 

Des  cartes  g^ographiques  manquent 


D 


Plates  missing/ 

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E 


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Les  images  suivantes  ont  dtd  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettet^  de  Texemplaire  film6,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 


The  last  recorded  framo  on  each  microfiche  shall 
contain  the  symbol  -^(meaning  CONTINUED"), 
or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"),  whichever 
applies. 


Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la  der- 
nidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le  cas: 
le  symbole  — »►  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le  symbole 
V  signifie  "FIN". 


The  original  copy  was  borrowed  from,  and 
filmed  with,  the  kind  consent  of  the  following 
institution: 

National  Library  of  Canada 


L'exemplaire  filmd  fut  reproduit  grdce  d  la 
g6n6rositd  de  I'dtablissement  pr§teur 
suivant  : 

Bibliothdque  nationale  du  Canada 


Maps  or  plates  too  large  to  be  entirely  included 
in  one  exposure  are  filmed  beginning  in  the 
upper  Inft  hand  corner,  left  to  right  and  top  to 
bottom,  as  many  frames  as  required.  The 
following  diagrams  illustrate  the  method: 


Les  cartes  ou  les  planches  trop  grandes  pour  dtre 
reproduites  en  un  seul  cliche  sont  filmdes  d 
partir  de  Tangle  supdrieure  gauche,  de  gauche  i 
droite  et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  n^cessaire.  Le  diagramme  suivant 
illustre  la  mdthode  : 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

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L 


THE 


LADY    OF    THE    ICE. 


A    NOVEL 


BY 


JAMES    DE    MILLE, 

ACTDOn    OF 

"THE    DODGE    CLUB    ABROAD,"    "CORD    AND    CREESE,"    ETC. 


■WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS   BY    C.    G.    BUSH. 


D. 


NEW     YORK: 
APPLE  TON     AND     COMPANY, 

90,    92    &    94    GRAND    STREET. 

isro. 


D(  r. 


rBininiTriiitiiiTiii  ■  ;  . 


C7-^ 


;^   0 


Entered,  according  to  act  of  Congress,  iu  the  year  1870,  by 

B.  Al'PLETON  &  CO., 

Iu  the  Clerk-s  Ofilce  of  tUc  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  tlic  Southern  District  of 

Xew  Yorlv. 


XL 


xm 


ii&lrtW)* 


C  O  K  T  E  ^'  T  S . 


CHiPTBB 
I. 


n. 
m. 

IV. 
V. 

\^. 

VII. 
VIII. 

IX. 


XI. 


XII. 


xra. 


Consisting  merely  of  Introductory  Matter  . 
I^toate  FnenO,  and  one  who  divide,  with  me  the  Honor  of  hein,  the  Hero  of  my 

"Macrorio-oldChnp-rm-golng-to-be-marriea!!!"  '  '  '  ' 

"Ifs-the-thoWi,lowI    If8Mr«.-FinnimorelIl" 

"^wZt^i;:  ::f:. :  r^-^-^'^  -r^-  ';'^  ^:  •-  --'  -  -^  --  ^^ 

"I  implored  her  to  nm  away  with  me,  and  have  a  Private  Marria."e  Icav'in.  ,i  J 
res  to  Fate.  And  I  solemnly  assured  her  that,  if  she  refused.  I^^^Z  mv 
Brains  out  on  her  Door-step.-There,  now  I    What  do  you  think  0^1'"       ' 

^    crossing  the  St.  Lawrence.-The  Storm  and  the  Break-np.-A  Wonderful  Adven 
ure.-.V  Strugglefor  Life,-Who  is  she,-Tho  Ice-ridge^Fly  fory^rLi/e  ; 

.    I  «y  hacl.  and  send  the  Doctor  to  the  nescue.-Return  to  the  Spot.-Flight  of  the 
silurr":  -^^''';"^"'"-'- ^^ '-"-,  and  Despair.-' Pas  „u  Mot,  iln! 

By  one's  own  Fireside.-The  Comforts  of  a  Bachelor.-Chewin^  the  C„,'l  of  ^  \ 
nnd  Bitter  Fancy.-A  Discovery  full  of  Mortiileation  an  Z,;.  ":/!:!:' 
Randolph  again.-News  from  the  Seat  of  War  ^^ncnt.-Jack 

''T^~^7i  f'""""  "■«'^— «--'-y^  e'a^to  se^  aFe;,ow.:p,enty 
Of  Chat,  and  Lots  of  run.-Xo  End  of  Larks,  you  know,  and  all  that  SoJlf 

"  Maerorie,  my  Boy.  have  you  been  to  Anderson's  yet  ?  "J"  No  ''-.  ^ell  then  I 

Time  :     '  ^'"""■"  '"^'^'  '  '''  "^'""^  ''°'  "-  ^^a^e  ""^  I^  ,c      T 

Time  s  come  at  last.    There's  no  Place  for  me  but  the  Cold  Grave,  whore        Pe  > 

B.voP.ser-hymaydropaTearovertheMournfulFateofJackI.„.do,;irAme: 

MyAdvontm-es  rehearsed  toJ„ckru,ndoIph._u,;ydearFellow,yo„don'tsaysol'; 

-    Po„myLIfo,ycs.-'-''By  Jovel    Old  Chap,  how  close     ou've  b.H.„T  vlu 

nust  have  no  End  of  Secrets.    And  what'«  become  of  the  La^  ^  W.': -'s  1,';" 

Advertising  III" 

1     °  


PAOC 

.5 


0 
9 

10 

13 

15 
17 


30 


3-1 


40 
43 


ji2^,.!AMD^*^ 


IV 


CONTENTS. 


CIIAPTER 

XIV. 


XV. 


XVI. 

xvn. 

XVIII. 


XIX. 


XX. 


XXI. 


xxn. 


XXIII. 


xxrv. 


xx^^ 


XXYI. 


xxr\'n. 


A  Concert.— .\.  Singular  C'bnrnetcr.— "God  eavo  tlio  Qucon."— A  Fonlan.— A  Gcn- 
ernl  Row.— Macrorlc  to  tlie Rescue !— Macrorlo's  Molden  Spcecli,  and  its  Singular 
En'L'ctlvonogs.— O'llalloran.— A  Strange  Companion.— Invited  to  partake  of  llos- 
pitality  ........... 

Tlio  O'llalloran  Ladles.— Their  Appcarnncc.— Tl'.oir  Afxes.- Tlicir  Dress.- Their 
Demeanor.— Tlieir  Culture,  Toiieh,  Education,  Ranli,  Style,  Attuiumeuts,  aud  all 
about  them  .......... 

The  Dally  Paper  .......... 

"  Somcthin'  warrum  '"......... 

The  following  Morning.— .\ppearance  of  Jack  Randolph.— A  Now  Complication.— 
The  Three  Oranges. — Deeiwrate  Effort!- of  tlie.IugKU'r.—IIow  to  make  Full,  .\mple. 
Complete,  and  mopt  Satisfactory  ExplanatiouH.— Mies  PliilMpr" !— the  Widow!! 
— Number  Tliree  !  i !— Louie  rapidly  rieinjr  into  Greater  Prominence  on  the  Cen- 
tal and  Sentimental  Horizon  of  Jack  Randolpli  ..... 

O'llalloran's  ajrain.- A  Startling  Rev  'lation.— The  Lady  of  the  Ice.— Found  at  last. 
— Confusion.  Embarrassment,  Reticence,  and  SliyuesH.  succeeded  by  Wit,  Fasci- 
nation, Laughter,  and  Witching  Smiles         ...... 

"Our  Symposiiim,"'  as  O'llalloran  (ailed  it.— High  and  Jliglity  Discourse.— Gen- 
eral Inspection  of  Antiquity  by  a  Learned  Eye.— A  Discourse  upon  the  "  Oionee- 
soizin "  of  the  English  Language.— Homeric  Translations.— O'llalloran  and 
Bums.— A  New  Epoch  for  the  Brogue.— Tlie  Dinner  c.f  Achilles  and  the  Palace  of 
Antinous         ........... 

Jack  once  more.— The  Woes  ol  a  Lover.— Not  wisely  but  too  many.— While  Jack 
Is  telling  his  Little  Story,  the  Oiics  whom  he  tluis  Entertains  have  a  Separate 
Meeting.— Tlie  Bursting  of  the  '.Storm.- Tlie  Letter  of  "Number  Tliree."— The 
■Widow  and  Miss  Phillips.— Jack  has  to  avail  himself  of  the  Aid  of  a  Cliaplain  of 
Her  Majesty's  Forces. — Jack  an  Injured  Man  ..... 

I  reveal  my  Secret.— Tremendous  ElTects  of  the  Revelation.— Mutual  Explanations, 
which  are  byno  means satisfactory.-Jack  stands  up  forwhat  he  calls  his  Rights. 
—Remonstrances  and  Reasonings,  ending  in  a  General  Row.— Jack  makes  a  Dec- 
laration of  War,  and  takes  his  Departure  in  a  State  of  Vniiaralleled  Iluffinees 

A  Friend  becomes  an  Enemy. — Meditations  on  the  Ancient  and  Venerable  Fable  of 
the  Dog  in  the  Manger.— The  Corruption  of  tlio  Human  Heart.— Consideration  of 
the  Wliole  Situation.— Attempts  to  countermine  Jack,  and  Final  Resolve 

Tremendous  Excitement.— The  Hour  approaches,  and  v.ith  it  the  Man.— The  Lady 
of  the  Ice.— .\  Tumultuous  Meeting.— Outpourimr  of  Tender  Emotions.— Agita- 
tion of  the  Lady.— A  Sudden  Interruption.— An  Injured  Man,  an  Awful,  Fearful, 
Direful,  and  Utterly-crushing  Revelation.— Who  is  the  Lady  of  the  Ice  ? 

Recovery  from  the  Last  Great  Shock.— Geniality  of  mine  Host.— Off  again  among 
Antiquities.— The  Fenians.— A  Startling  Revelation  by  one  of  the  Inner  Circle. 
—Politics,  Poetry,  and  Pathos.— Far-reaching  Plans  and  Deep-seated  Purposes 

A  few  Parting  Words  with  O'llalloran.- His  Touching  Parental  Tenderness,  High 
Chivalric  Sentiment,  and  Lofty  Sense  of  Honor.— Pistols  for  Two.— Pleasant  aud 
Harmonious  Arrangement.—"  Me  Boy,  ye're  an  Honor  to  ycr  Sex  I " 

Sensational !— Terrific  !— Tremendous  !— I  leave  the  House  in  n  Strange  Whirl.— A 
Storm.— The  Driving  Sleet.— I  wander  about.— Tlie  Voices  of  the  Storm,  and  of 
the  River.- The  Clangor  of  the  Bells.— The  Shadow  in  tiie  Doorway.— The  Mys- 
terious Companion.— A  Terrible  Walk.— Familiar  Voices.— Sinking  into  Sense- 
lessness.—The  Lady  of  the  Ice  is  revealed  at  last  amid  the  Storm  ! 


40 


51 
C3 
EG 


58 


C5 


CO 


81 


&3 


65 


89 


90 


/ ;  -ii?f'!i?sa:©Si:.;SS'».-.-»-««-f«- 


CONTENTS. 


CIIArTF.R 

XS\'in.  Jly  Lady  of  the  Ice.— Snow  aud  Sleet.— ncawakoniiiK— A  Dcspernto  Situnlion.— 
Savod  a  Socoiid  Time.— Snatched  from  a  M'orsc  Fate.— Borne  In  my  Anus  onco 
more.— The  Open  Door       ......••■ 

XXIX.  Puzzling;  Questions  wlilch  cannot  boan^wevod  as  yet.— A  Step  toward  neconcllia- 
tlon.  — HeiinionofaBrokeij  Frlendchip.— I'ieces  all  collected  and  jcjlned.— Joy  of 
Jack.— Solemn  Debate?  over  the  Great  Puzzle  of  tUo  Period.- Friendly  Confer- 
ences! and  Confidences.— An  Important  Coninmnleatlon   .... 

SSX.  A  Letter  l-Strange  Hesitation.— Gloomy  Forebodings.— Jack  down  deep  In  the 
Dumps.- Fresh  Confcssione.- Why  ho  missed  the  Tryst.— Ilemorse  and  Revenge. 
—Jack's  Vows  of  Vengeance.— A  very  Singular  and  Unaccountable  Character.— 
Jack's  Gloomy  Menaces       ......... 

XXXI.  A  Friendly  Call.— Preliminaries  of  the  Duel  neatly  arranged.— A  Damp  Journey, 
and  Depressed  Spirits.— A  Secliidod  Spot.— Dllllculties  which  attend  a  Duel  in  a 
Canadian  Spring.— A  Masterly  Decision.— Debates  about  the  Niceties  of  the  Code 
of  Honor.— Who  shall  have  the  First  Shot.— Struggle  for  Precedence.— A  very 
Singular  and  very  Obstinate  Dispute.- 1  save  O'llalloran  from  Death  by  Rheu- 
matism      .......•••• 

XXXII.  Home  again.— The  Growls  of  a  Confirmed  Growler. —Ilospitality.  — The  Well- 
known  Room.— Vision  of  a  Lady.— Alone  with  Marion.- Interchange  of  Thought 
and  Sentiment.— Two  BeautifulWomcn.— An  Evening  to  be  remembered.- The 
Conviviality  of  O'llalloran.— The  Humors  of  O'llalloran,  and  bis  Bacchic  Joy     . 

XXXIII.  From  April  to  Suuc—Timpom  iivitanfiir,et  nos  vuitamur  in  W/i«.— Startling 
Change  in  Marion  !— And  why  ?— Jack  and  his  Woes.— The  Vengeance  of  Miss 
Phillips.— Ladies  who  refuse  to  allow  their  Hearts  to  be  broken.— Noble  Atti- 
tude of  the  Widow.— Consolations  of  Louie  ..... 

XXXrS'.  Jack's  Tribulations.- They  rise  up  in  the  very  Face  of  the  most  Astonishing 
Good  Fortunes.- For,  what  is  like  a  Legacy  ?— And  this  comes  to  Jack !— Seven 
Thousand  Pounds  Sterling  per  Annum  !— But  what's  the  Use  of  it  all  ?— Jack 
comes  to  Grief  I— Woe  I  Sorrow  I  Despair!  All  the  Widow  !— Infatuation.— A 
Mad  Proposal.— A  Madman,  a  Lunatic,  an  Idiot,  a  March  Hare,  and  a  Hatter, 
all  rolled  into  one,  oud  that  one  the  Lucky  yet  Unfortunate  Jack  . 

XXXV.  "  Louie  1  "-Platonic  Friendship.— Its  Rcsulis.— Ad\  ice  may  be  given  too  freely, 
and  Consolation  may  bo  sought  for  too  eagerly.— Two  Inflammable  Hearts  should 
not  be  allowed  to  come  together.— the  Old,  Old  Story.— A  Breakdown,  and  the 
Results,  all  around.— The  Condemned  Criminal.— The  Slow  yet  Sure  Approach 
of  the  Hour  of  Execution       ........ 

XXXVI.  A  Friend's  Apology  for  a  Friend.— Jack  do\TO  at  the  Bottom  of  a  Deep  Abyss  of 
■\Voo.— His  Despair. —The  Hour  and  the  Man-!— Where  is  the  Woman  ?— A  Sa- 
cred Spot.— Old  Fletchor.—The  Toll  of  the  Bell.- Meditations  on  each  Succes- 
sive Stroke.— A  Wild  Search.— The  Pretty  ServautMaid,  and  her  Pretty  Stoi-y.— 
Throwing  Gold  about        ......... 

XXXSII.  My  Own  Afi'airs.— A  Drive,  and  how  it  came  off.— Varjing  Moods.— The  Excited, 
the  Gloomy,  and  the  Gentlemanly.— Straying  about  Montmorency.— Revisiting 
a  Memorable  Scene.— Efl'ect  of  said  Scene.— A  Mute  Appeal  and  an  Appeal  in 
Words.- Result  of  the  Appeals.—"  Will  you  turn  away  ?  "—Grand  Result.- Cli- 
max.—Finale.— A  General  Understanding  all  round,  and  a  Universal  E.^planation 
of  Numerous  Puzzles   ......... 


!IS 


Kll 


107 


\Vl 


119 


m 


l-iS 


131 


i:i9 


XXSVIII. 


CONTENTS. 


CirniKl  Conclusion.— Wo(WIii<j-rIngB  andBall-rliiss.— St.  MalathlV.— OM  Flotclit-r 
ill  111* Ul  iry.— Nolliimlni;,' thin Tlrm'.—MoHKiifics Mill cvorywlu'i-o.— All tlioTowu 
"SOf:-— (iufi'ii-'C  ou  tlio  Kampii^o.— St.  Maliiclil'H  crnninicd.— Galli'iIeH  crowded. 
—White  Favors  everywliero.— Tlio  Widow  liappy  wltli  tlio  Chnplain.— Tlio 
Double  Wi'ddlii!,'.— First  Couple— Jack  ami  Louie.- Second  ditto— Machohie 
AND  Mauiov.— Colonel  Uertnn  and  O'nallonin;,'lvinfjnwny  tliollrldes.— Stranso 
Ahsiocintlon  of  the  Hritlsh  Oftlccrand  the  Fmliin.— Tack  and  Macrorle,  Louie 
and  Marion.- BrldeH  and  Bridegrooms.— Ei)itlmlamlnni.—Weddin,i,'  in  111;;!!  Life. 
-Si;-  Oflioiatinf,'  C'ierf,'ymen.— All  the  15Uleof  Quelioc,  take  part.— All  the  Clerf.T, 
all  the  Military,  and  Everybody  who  amounts  to  Any  Tliini;.— Tlie  liand  of  the 
Bobtails  discoursing  Sweet  Music,  and  all  that  Sort  of  Thing,  you  know 


11« 


'mm^'. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


CnAPTER  I. 

CONSISriXG    MFP.r.LV     OK    INTRODUCTOIiY    MAT- 

Tins  is  a  story  of  Quebec.  Quebec  is  a 
womlevful  city. 

I  am  given  to  iimlerstand  that  the  ridge 
on  which  the  city  is  built  is  Laurentiun; 
and  the  river  tliat  flows  past  it  is  the  same. 
On  this  (not  the  river,  you  know)  are  strata 
of  schist,  shale,  old  red  sand-stone,  trap, 
granite,  clay,  and  mud.  The  upper  stratum 
is  ligneous,  and  is  found  to  be  very  con- 
venient for  pavements. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  from  this  intro- 
duction that  I  am  a  geologist.  I  am  not. 
I  am  a  lieutenant  in  her  Majesty's  r29th 
Bobtails.  "We  Bobtails  are  a  gay  and  gal- 
lant set,  and  I  have  reason  to  know  that  we 
are  well  remembered  in  every  place  wc  have 
been  r[uartercd. 

Into  the  vortex  of  Quebcccian  society  I 
threw  myself  with  all  the  generous  ardor 
of  youth,  and  was  keenly  alive  to  those 
charms  which  the  Canadian  ladies  possess 
and  use  so  fatally.  It  is  a  singular  fact, 
for  which  I  will  not  attempt  to  account, 
that  in  Quebcccian  society  one  comes  in 
contact  with  ladies  only.  Where  the  male 
element  is  I  never  could  imagine.    I  never 


saw  a  civilian.  There  arc  no  young  men 
in  Quel)ee;  if  there  are  any,  we  oflieers 
are  not  aware  of  it.  I've  often  been  anx- 
i(jus  to  see  one,  but  never  could  make  it 
out.  Xow,  of  these  Canadian  ladies  I  can- 
not trust  myself  to  speak  with  cahnncss. 
An  allusion  to  them  will  of  itself  bo  elo- 
quent to  every  brother  officer.  I  will  sim- 
ply remark  that,  at  a  time  when  the  ten- 
dencies of  the  Canadians  generally  arc  a 
subject  of  luiv'-est  both  in  England  and 
America,  and  when  it  is  a  matter  of  doubt 
whether  they  lean  to  annexation  or  British 
connection,  their  fair  young  daughters  show 
an  unmistakable  tendency  not  to  one,  but 
to  both,  and  make  two  apparently  incom- 
patible principles  really  inseparable. 

You  nmst  understand  that  this  is  my 
roundabout  way  of  hinting  that  the  un- 
married British  ofiieer  who  goes  to  Canada 
generally  finds  his  destiny  tenderly  folding 
itself  around  a  Canadian  bride.  It  is  the 
common  lot.  Some  of  these  take  their 
wives  with  them  around  the  world,  but 
many  more  retire  from  the  service,  buy 
farms,  and  practise  love  in  a  cottage. 
Thus  ihe  fair  and  loyal  Canadiennes  are 
responsible  for  the  loss  of  many  and  many 
a  gallant  officer  to  her  Majesty's  service. 
Throughout  these  colonial  stations  there 
has  been,  and  there  will  be,  a  fearful  deple- 


-..«n..»  m..!-^^..  I.  „■.„,.  ,.»..r-^.v,,-^,-^...,,..,v.».-.-cii,.»>„^_..i^  ^. 


6 


THE  LADY   OF  THE   ICE. 


tion  among  the  numbers  of  these  bnivc  but 
too  hnpressible  men.  I  make  tliis  state- 
ment solemnly,  as  a  iiiournful  tact.  I 
have  nothing  to  say  against  it ;  and  it  is 
not  for  Che  who  has  liaJ  an  experience  lil;c 
mine  to  hint  at  a  remcily.  But  to  my  story  ; 

Everyone  who  was  in  Quebec  during  the 
winter  of  1 8 — ,  if  he  went  into  society  at 
all,  must  have  been  struck  by  the  appear- 
ance of  a  young  Jiobtail  otliccr,  who  was  a 
joyous  and  a  welcome  gue.st  at  every  house 
where  it  was  desirable  to  be.  Tall,  straight 
as  an  arrow,  and  singularly  well-propor- 
tioned, tlie  pictures(iue  costume  of  the 
12!nh  Bobtails  could  add  but  little  to  the 
cflect  already  produced  by  so  martial  a 
figure.  His  face  was  whiskerless ;  his  eyes 
gray;  his  cheek-bones  a  little  higher  than 
the  average;  his  hair  auburn;  his  nose  not 
Grecian — or  Roman — but  still  impressive : 
his  air  one  of  (luiet  dignity,  mingled  with 
youthful  joyanee  and  mirthfulness.  Try — 
0  reader ! — to  bring  before  you  such  a  fig- 
ure.    Well — that's  me. 

Such  was  my  exterior ;  what  was  my 
character?  A  few  words  will  suffice  to 
explain : — bold,  yet  cautious ;  brave,  yet 
tender;  constant,  yet  highly  impressible; 
tenacious  of  affection,  3-et  quick  to  kindle 
into  admiration  at  every  new  form  of  beau- 
ty; many  times  smitten,  yet  surviving  the 
wound  ;  vanquished,  yet  rescued  by  that 
very  impressibility  of  temper — such  was 
the  man  over  whose  singular  adventures 
you  will  shortly  be  called  to  smile  or  to 
weep. 

Here  is  my  card : 

129th  Bobtails. 

And  now,  my  friend,  having  introduced 
you  to  myself,  having  shown  you  my  [ihc  - 


tograph,  having  explained  my  character, 
and  handed  you  my  card,  allow  me  to  lead 
you  to 

CHAPTER  ir. 

MY  QCARTEnS,  WHEP.':  YOtr  -WILL  DECOMK  AC- 
QUAINTED WITH  OLD  JACK  RANDOLni,  MV 
MOST  INTIMATE  FIUErD,  AND  ONE  WHO  DI- 
VIDES ■WITH  ME  THE  HONOR  OF  BEING  THE 
IlEUO   OF   MY   STOUV. 

I'll  never  forget  the  time.  It  was  a  day 
in  April. 

But  an  Ai)ril  day  in  Canada  is  a  very 
difl'erent  thing  from  an  April  day  in  Eng- 
land, lu  England  all  Xature  is  robed  in 
vivid  green,  the  air  is  balmy ;  and  all  those 
beauties  abound  which  usually  set  poets 
rhapsodizing,  and  young  men  sentimental- 
izing, and  young  girls  tantalizing.  Now,  in 
Canada  there  is  nothing  of  the  kind.  No 
Canadian  poet,  for  instance,  would  ever 
affirm  that  in  tlio  spring  a  livelier  iris 
blooms  upon  the  burnished  dove;  in  the 
spring  a  young  man's  fancy  lightly  turns 
to  thoughts  of  love.  Xo.  For  that  sort 
of  thing — the  thoughts  of  love  I  mean — 
winter  is  the  time  of  day  in  Canada.  The 
fact  is,  the  Canadians  haven't  any  spring. 
The  months  which  Englishmen  include 
under  that  pleasant  name  arc  here  partly 
taken  up  with  prolonging  the  winter,  and 
partly  with  the  formation  of  a  new  and 
nondescript  season.  In  that  period  Xa- 
ture, instead  of  being  darkly,  deeply,  beau- 
tifully green,  has  rather  the  shade  of  a 
dingy,  dirty,  melancholy  gray.  ?now  cov- 
ers the  ground — not  by  any  means  the 
glistening  white  robe  of  Winter — but  a 
rugged  substitute,  damp,  and  discolored. 
It  is  snow,  but  snow  far  gone  iuio  decay 
I  and  decrepitude — snow  that  seems  ashamed 
of  itself  for  lingering  so  long  after  wearing 


i*"»«4,'S^ 


(  , 


MY  QUARTEKS. 


out  its  welcome,  and  presenting  itself  in  so 
revolting  a  dress — snow,  in  faet,  which  is 
like  a  man  sinking  into  irremediable  ruin, 
and  changing  its  former  glorious  state  for 
that  condition  which  is  expressed  by  the 
unpleasant  word  "slush."      There   is  not 
an  object,  not  a  circumstance,  in  visible 
Xaturo  which  does  not  lieighten  the  con- 
trast,   la  England  there  is  the  luxuriant 
foliage,  the  fragrant  blossom,  the  gay  flow- 
er: in  Canada,  black  twit's — bare,  serajrKv, 
and  altogether  wretched — thrust  their  re- 
pulsive forms  forth  into  the   bleak   air — 
there,  the  soft  rain-shower  falls ;  here,  the 
fierce  snow-squall,  or  maddening  sleet!— 
there,  the  field  is  traversed  by  the  cheerful 
plough ;  here,  it  is  covered  with  ice-heaps 
or  thawing  snow;    there,   th ;  rivers   run 
babbling  onward   under   the  green   trees; 
here,  they  groan  and   chafe   under  heaps 
of    dingy    and    slowly-di^^integrating    ice- 
hummocks  ;    there,    one's     only    weapon 
against   the   rigor    of  the   seanon    is    the 
peaceful  umbrella;  here,  one  must  defend 
one's  self  witli  caps  and  coats  of  fur  and 
india-rubber,  with  clumsy  leggings,  ponder- 
ous boots,  steel-creepers,  gauntlets  of  skin, 
iron-pointed  alpenstocks,  and  forty  or  fifty 
other  articles  which  the  exigencies  of  space 
and  time  will  not  permit  me  to  mention. 
On  one  of  the  darkest  and  most  dismal  of 
these  April  days,  I  was  trying  to  kill  time 
in  my  quarters,  when  Jack  Kanuolph  burst 
in  upon  ray  meditations.     Jack  Randolph 
was   one  of  Ours— an   intimate  friend  of 
mine,  and  of  everybody  else  who  hi.  i  the 
pleasure  of  his  acquaintance.      Jack  was 
in  every  respect  a  remarkable  man— pliys- 
ically,  intellectually,  and  morally.     Rresent 
company  excepted,  he  was  certainly  by  all 
odds   the  finest-looking  fellow  in   a    regi- 
ment   notoriously    filled    with    handsome 
men;  and  to  this  rare  advantage  he  add- 


most  genial  nature  in  the  world.  It  v,as 
dilfieult  to  say  whether  he  was  a  greater 
favorite  with  men  or  with  women.  lie 
was  noisy,  rattling,  reckless,  good-hearted, 
generous,  mirthful,  witty,  jovial,  daring, 
open-handed,  irrepressible,  enthusiastic, 
and  confoundedly  clever.  He  was  good 
at  every  thing,  from  tracking  a  moose  or 
caribou,  on  through  all  the  gamut  of  rink- 
ing,  skating,  ice-boating,  and  tobogganing, 
up  to  the  lightest  accomplishments  of 
the  drawing-room.  He  was  one  of  those 
lucky  dogs  who  are  able  to  break 
horses  or  hearts  with  equal  buoj-ancy  of 
soul.  And  it  was  this  twofold  capacity 
which  made  him  equally  dear  to  either 
sex. 

A  lucky  dog  ?     Yea,  verily,  that  is  what 
he  was.     He  was  welcomed  at  every  moss, 
and  he  had  the  entree  of  every  house  in 
Quebec.     He  could  drink  harder  than  any 
man  in  the  regiment,  and  dance  down  a 
whole  regiment  of  <lrawing-room  knights. 
He  could  sing  better  than  any  amateur  I 
ever  heard ;   and  was  the  best  judge  of  a 
meerschaum-i)ipe    I    ever    saw.      Lucky  ? 
Yes,  he  was — and  especially  so,  and  more 
than  all   else — on  accouni  of  the  joyous- 
ness  of  his  soul.     There  was  a  contagious 
and  a  godlike  hilarity  in  his  broad,  open 
brow,  his  frank,  laughing  eyes,  and  his  mo- 
bile lips.     He  seemed  to  carry  about  with 
hira    a   bracing   moral  atmosphere.     The 
sight   of  him  had  the  same  effect  on  the 
dull  man  of  ordinary  life  that  the  Hima- 
layan air  has  on  an  Indian  invalid;  and 
yet  Jack  was  head-over-heels  in  debt.     \ot 
a  tradesman  would  trust  hira.     Shoals  of 
little  bills  were  sent  him  every  day.     Duns 
without  number  plagued  him  from  morning 
to  night.    The  Quebec  attorneys  were  sharp- 
ening their  bills,  and  prci)aring,  like  birds 
of  prey,  to  swoop  down  upon  him.    In  fact, 


ed  all  the  accomplishments  of  life,  and  the  I  taking  it  altogether.  Jack  had  full  before 


I 


8 


THE  LADY   OF  THE  ICE. 


him  tlio  sure  nnd  certain  prospect  of  some 
dismal  explosion. 

On  this  occasion,  Jack — for  the  first 
time  in  our  acquaintance — seemed  to  have 
not  a  vestige  of  his  ordinary  flow  of  spir- 
its. He  entered  without  a  word,  took  up 
a  pipe,  crammed  some  tobacco  into  the 
bowl,  flung  himself  into  an  easy-chair,  and 
began — with  fixed  eyes  and  set  lips — to 
pour  forth  enormous  volumes  of  smoke. 

ily  own  pipe  was  very  well  under  way, 
and  I  sat  opposite,  watching  him  in  won- 
der. I  studied  his  face,  and  marked  there 
what  I  had  never  before  seen  upon  it — a  pre- 
occupied and  troubled  expression.  Xow, 
Jack's  features,  by  long  indulgence  in  the 
gayer  omotion.«,  had  immovably  moulded 
themselves  into  an  expression  of  joyous- 
ness  and  hilarity.  Unnatural  was  it  for  the 
merry  twinkle  to  be  extinguished  in  his 
eyes ;  for  the  corners  of  the  mouth,  which 
usually  curled  upward,  to  settle  downward ; 
for  the  general  shape  of  feature,  out-line 
of  muscle,  set  of  lips,  to  undertake  to  be- 
come the  exponents  of  feelings  to  which 
they  were  totally  unaccustomed.  On  this 
occasion,  therefore,  Jack's  Axce  did  not  ap- 
pear so  much  mournful  as  dismal  ;  and, 
where  another  face  might  have  elicited 
sympathy.  Jack's  face  had  such  a  grew- 
jomencss,  such  an  utter  incongruity  be- 
tween feature  and  expression,  that  it 
seemed  only  droll. 

I  bore  this  inexplicable  conduct  as  long 
as  I  could,  but  at  length  I  could  stand  it 
no  longer. 

"  My  dear  Jack,"  said  I,  "  would  it  be 
too  much  to  ask,  in  the  mildest  manner 
in  the  world,  and  with  all  possible  regard 
for  your  feelings,  what,  in  the  name  of  the 
Old  Boy,  happens  to  be  up  just  now  ?  " 

Jack  took  the  pipe  from  his  mouth, 
sent  a  long  cloud  of  smoke  forward  in  a 
straight  line,   then    looked    at    me,  then 


heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and  then — replaced 
the  pipe,  and  began  smoking  once  more. 

Under  such  circurastanco3  I  did  not 
know  what  to  do  next,  so  I  took  up  again 
the  study  of  his  face. 

"  Heard  no  bad  news,  I  hope,"  I  said 
at  length,  making  another  venture  between 
the  puffs  of  my  pipe. 

A  shake  of  the  head. 

Silence  again. 

"  Duns  ?  " 

Another  shake. 

Silence. 

"  Writs  ?  " 

Another  shake. 

Silence. 

"  Liver  ?  " 

Another  sh.akc,  together  with  a  contemp- 
tuous smile. 

"  Then  I  give  it  up,"  said  I,  and  betook 
myself  once  more  to  my  pipe. 

After  a  time,  Jack  gave  a  long  sigh,  and 
regarded  me  fixedly  for  some  minutes,  with 
a  very  doleful  face.  Then  he  slowly  ejacu- 
lated : 

"  Macrorie ! " 

"Well?" 

"  It's  a  woman  !  " 

"  A  woman  ?  Well,  '^'bat's  that  ? 
Why  need  that  make  any  particular  dif- 
ference to  you,  my  boy  ?  " 

lie  sighed  again,  more  dolefully  than  be- 
fore. 

"  I'm  in  for  it,  old  chap,"  said  he. 

"  How's  that  ?  " 

"  It's  all  over." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Done  up,  sir — dead  and  gone ! " 

"  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  understand  you." 

"Hicjacd  Johannes  Randolph." 

"  You're  taking  to  Latin  by  way  of  mak- 
ing  yourself  more  intelligible,  I  suppose." 

"  Macrorie,  my  boy — " 

"  Well  ?  " 


^J14>V»!-;.  ajixiri^ 


then — replaced 
ig  once  more, 
cos    I   did    not 
I  took  up  again 


hope,"  I   said 
enture  between 


ith  a  contemp- 

I,  and  betook 

long  sigh,  and 
minutes,  with 
slowly  ejacu- 


"hat's    that  ? 
articular   dif- 

jIIv  than  bc- 

id  he. 


le!" 
ind  you." 
h." 

vay  of  mak- 
suppose." 


^•Jht.   -.-"M*^ 


,.,...»>>--v^,r..,iu^-.-r>..r^^. 


i 

E 


i 


/•■JisTf »»"-*.  ■»■-."»'  s. 


"  MACROIUE-OLL    CIIAP-I'M— GOING— TO-BE-MAKRILD  ! 


9 


I 


1 


"  Will  you  be  going  aaywhcre  near  Ander- 
son's to-day— the  stone-cutter,  I  mean  ?  " 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  If  you  should,  let  me  ask  you  to  do  a 
particular  favor  for  mc.    Will  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course.    What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Well— it's  only  to  order  a  tombstone 
for  mc — plain,  neat — four  feet  by  sixteen 
inches — with  nothing  on  it  but  my  name 
and  date.  The  sale  of  my  effects  will  bring 
enough  to  pay  for  it.  Don't  you  fellows  go 
and  put  up  a  tablet  about  me.  I  tell  you 
plainly,  I  don't  want  it,  and,  what's  more,  I 
won't  stand  it." 

"  By  Jovo  !  "  I  cried  ;  "  my  dear  fellow, 
one  would  think  you  were  raving.  Are  you 
thinking  of  shuffling  off  the  mortal  coil  ? 
Are  you  going  to  blow  your  precious  brains 
out  for  a  woman  ?  Is  it  because  some  fair 
one  is  cruel  that  you  are  thinking  of  your 
latter  end  ?  Will  you,  wasting  with  de- 
spair, die  because  a  woman's  fair  ?  " 

"  Xo,  old  chap.  I'm  going  to  do  some- 
thing worse." 

"  Something  worse  than  suicide  !  What's 
that  ?    A  clean  breast,  my  boy." 

"  A  species  of  moral  suicide." 

"What's  that?  Your  style  of  expres- 
sion to-day  is  a  kind  of  secret  cipher.  I 
haven't  the  key.    Tlease  explain." 

Jack  resumed  his  pipe,  and  bent  down 
his  head ;  then  he  rubbed  his  broad  brow 
with  his  unoccupied  hand;  then  he  raised 
himself  up,  and  looked  at  me  for  a  few  mo- 
ments in  solcnni  t^ilence  ;  then  he  said,  in  a 
low  voice,  speaking  each  word  separately 
and  with  thrilling  emphasis  : 

CHAPTER  III. 

"  MACROniE — OLD     CHAP — I'M — GOING — ^TO 

DE — MARRIED  !  !  !  " 

At  that  astounding  piece  of  intelligence, 
I  sat  dumb  and  stared  fixedly  at  Jack  for 


the  space  of  half  an  hour.  He  regarded 
me  with  a  mournful  smile.  At  last  my 
feelings  found  expression  in  a  long,  solemn, 
thoughtful,  anxious,  troubled,  and  perplexed 
whistle. 

I  could  think  of  only  one  thing.  It  was 
a  circumstance  which  Jack  had  confided  to 
me  as  his  bosom-friend.  Although  he  had 
confided  the  same  thing  to  at  least  a  hun- 
dred other  bosom-friends,  and  I  knew  it, 
yet,  at  the  same  time,  the  knowledge  of 
this  did  not  make  the  secret  any  the  less  a 
confidential  one ;  and  I  had  accordingly 
guarded  it  like  m.i  heart's  blood,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing,  you  know.  Xor  would  I 
even  now  divulge  that  secret,  were  it  not 
for  the  fact  that  the  cause  for  secrecy  is  re- 
moved. The  circumstance  was  this :  About 
a  year  before,  we  had  been  Btatix)ncd  at 
Fredericton,  in  the  Province  of  New  Bruns- 
wick. Jack  had  met  there  a  young  lady 
from  St.  Andrews,  named  Hiss  Phillip.',  to 
whom  he  had  devoted  himself  with  his 
usual  ardor.  During  a  sentimental  slcigh- 
rido  he  had  confessed  his  love,  and  had 
engaged  himself  to  her ;  and,  since  his  ar- 
rival at  Quebec,  he  had  corresponded  with 
her  very  faithfully.  lie  considered  himself 
as  destined  by  Fate  to  become  the  husband 
of  Miss  Phillips  at  some  time  in  the  dim 
future,  and  the  only  marriage  before  him 
that  I  could  think  of  was  this.  Still  I  could 
not  understand  why  it  had  come  upon  him 
so  suddenly,  or  why,  if  it  did  come,  ho 
should  so  collapse  under  the  pressure  of  his 
doom. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  after  I  had  rallied  some- 
what, "  I  didn't  think  it  was  to  come  off  so 
soon.  Some  luck  has  turned  up,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"  Luck  !  "  repeated  Jack,  with  an  inde- 
scribable accent. 

"  I  assure  you,  though  I've  never  had 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  Miss  Phillips,  yet, 


10 


THE  LADY   OF  THE  ICE. 


from  your  duFCiiiitidii,  I  adiniru  liur  quite 
fervently,  and  congratulate  you  from  the 
bottom  of  my  heart." 

"  Mi?;s  riiillips  !  "  repeated  Jack,  with  a 
groan. 

"  What's  the  matter,  old  chap  ?  " 

"  It  isn't— /if >• .'  "  faltered  Jack. 

"  What ! " 

"  She'll  have  to  wear  the  willow." 

"  You  haven't  broken  with  her — liave 
you  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  She'll  have  to  forgive  and  forget,  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing.  If  it  was  Mis.s  Phil- 
lips, I  wouldn't  be  so  confoundedly  cut  up 
about  it." 

"  Why — what  is  it  ?  who  is  it  ?  and  what 
do  you  mean  ?  " 

Jack  looked  at  me.  Then  he  looked 
down,  and  frowned.  Then  he  looked  at  me 
again  ;  and  then  he  said,  slowly,  and  with  a 
powerful  cfl'ort : 

ClIArTER   IV. 

"  it's — THK — THE  WinOW  !     It'S  MRS. — FINXI- 

MOUE  ! ! : " 

Uad  a  bombshell  burst — but  I  forbear. 
That  compari.'jon  is,  I  believe,  somewhat 
hackneyed.  The  reader  will  therefore  be 
good  enough  to  appropriate  the  point  of  it, 
and  understand  that  the  shock  of  this  intel- 
ligence was  so  o\  powering,  that  I  was 
again  rendered  speechless. 

"  You  see,"  said  Jack,  after  a  long  and 
painful  silence,  "  it  all  originated  out  of  an 
infernal  mistake.  Xot  that  I  ought  to  be 
sorry  for  it,  though.  Mrs.  Finnimore,  of 
course,  is  a  deuced  fine  woman.  I've  been 
round  there  ever  so  long,  and  seen  ever  so 
much  of  her ;  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
you  know.  Oh,  yes,"  he  added,  dismally ; 
"  I  ought  to  be  glad,  and,  of  course,  I'm  a 
deuced  lucky  fellow,  and  all  that ;  but — " 


Jle  paused,  and  an  expressive  silence  fol- 
lowed that  "  but." 

"  Well,  how  about  the  mistake  '? "  I 
asked. 

"  Why,  I'll  tell  you.  It  was  that  con- 
founded party  at  Doanc's.  You  know  what 
a  favorite  of  mine  little  Louie  Berton  is 
— the  best  little  thing  that  ever  breathed, 
the  prettiest,  the— full  of  fun,  too.  Well, 
we're  awfully  thick,  you  know;  and  she 
chaffed  me  all  the  evening  about  my  en- 
gagement with  Jliss  riiillips.  She  had 
heard  all  al)out  it,  and  is  crazy  to  find  out 
whether  it's  going  on  yet  or  not.  We  had 
great  ftm — she  chaffing  and  questioning, 
and  I  trying  to  light  her  ofl'.  Well ;  the 
dancing  was  going  on,  and  I'd  been  sepa- 
rated from  her  for  some  time,  and  was  try- 
ing to  find  her  again,  and  I  saw  some  one 
standing  in  a  recess  of  one  of  the  windows, 
with  a  dress  that  was  exactly  like  Louie's. 
Her  back  was  turned  to  me,  and  the  cur- 
tains half  concealed  her.  I  felt  sure  that 
it  was  Louie.  So  I  sauntered  up,  and  stood 
for  a  moment  or  two  behind  her.  She  was 
looking  out  of  the  window  ;  one  hand  was 
on  the  ledge,  and  the  other  was  by  her  side, 
half  behind  her.  I  don't  know  what  got 
into  me  ;  but  I  seized  her  hand,  and  gave  it 
a  gentle  squeeze. 

"  Well,  you  know,  I  expected  that  it 
would  be  snatched  away  at  once.  I  felt 
immediately  an  awful  horror  at  my  indis- 
cretion, and  would  have  given  the  world 
not  to  have  done  it.  I  expected  to  see 
Louie's  flashing  eyes  hurling  indignant  fire 
at  me,  and  all  that.  But  the  hand  didn't 
move  from  mine  at  all !  " 

Jack  uttered  this  last  sentence  with  the 
doleful  accents  of  a  deeply-injured  man — 
such  an  accent  as  one  would  employ  in 
telling  of  a  shameful  trick  practised  upon 
his  innocence. 

"  It  lay  ia  mine,"  he  continued.    "  There 


wPfest^SBH 


V  ^r.Mi'it*'*'-''^'*-^'^ 


■  I'.s'HT.'Kwimii.im 


"  IT'S— TIIE-TIIE  WIDOW  !  " 


11 


'H 


it  was ;  I  bad  seized  it ;  I  had  it ;  I  held  it ; 
I  had  squeezed  it ;  and — good  Lord  ! — Ma- 
cioric,  what  was  I  to  do  ?  I'll  tell  you  what 
I  did— I  squeezed  it  again.  I  thought  that 
now  it  would  go  ;  but  it  wouldn't.  Well,  I 
tried  it  again.  No  go.  Onee  more — and 
once  again.  On  my  soul,  Macroric,  it  still 
lay  in  mine.  I  cannot  tell  you  what 
thoughts  I  had.  It  seemed  like  indelicacy. 
It  was  a  bitter  thing  to  associate  indelicacy 
v'ah  one  like  little  Louie  ;  but — hang  it! — 
there  was  the  awful  fact.  Suddenly,  the 
thought  struck  me  that  the  hand  was  larger 
than  Louie's.  At  that  thought,  a  ghastly 
sensation  came  over  me  ;  and,  just  at  that 
monieut,  the  lady  herself  turned  her  face, 
blushing,  arch,  -vith  a  mischievous  smile. 
To  my  consternation,  and  to  my — well,  yes 
— to  my  horror,  I  saw  Mrs.  Finuimore  !  " 

"  Good  Lord  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  A  stronger  expression  would  fail  to  do 
justice  to  the  occasion,"  said  Jack,  help- 
ing himself  to  a  glass  of  beer.  "  For  my 
part,  the  thrill  of  unspeakable  horror  that 
was  imparted  by  that  shock  is  still  strong 
within  me.  There,  my  boy,  you  hare  my 
story.  I  leave  the  rest  to  your  imagina- 
tion." 

"  The  rest  ?  Why,  do  you  mean  to  say 
that  this  is  all  ?  " 

"  All ! "  cried  Jack,  with  a  wild  laugh. 
"  All  ?  My  dear  boy,  it  is  only  the  faint 
beginning  ;  but  it  implies  all  the  rest." 

"  What  did  she  say  ?  "  I  asked,  meekly. 

"  Say — say  ?  What !  After — well,  never 
mind.  Hang  it !  Don't  drive  me  into  par- 
ticulars. Don't  you  see  ?  Why,  there  I 
was.  I  had  made  an  assault,  broken 
through  the  enemy's  lines,  thought  I  was 
carrying  every  thing  before  me,  when  sud- 
denly I  found  myself  confronted,  not  by 
an  inferior  force,  but  by  an  overwhelming 
superiority  of  numbers — horse,  foot,  and 
artillery,  marines,  and  masked  batteries — 


ves, 


and    baggage-wagons — all    assaulting 


me  in   front,   in  flank,   and   in   the  rear. 
Pooh  !  " 

"  Don't  talk  shop,  Jack." 

"  Shop  ?  Will  you  be  kind  enough  to 
suggest  some  ordinary  figure  of  speech  that 
will  give  an  idea  of  my  situation  ?  Plain 
language  is  quite  useless.  At  least,  I  find 
it  so." 

"  But,  at  any  rate,  what  did  she  say  ?  " 

"  Why,"  answered  Jack,  in  a  more  dis- 
mal voice  than  ever,  "  she  said,  '  Ah, 
Jack  ! ' — she  called  me  Jack ! — '  Ah,  Jack  ! 
I  saw  you  looking  for  mc.  I  knew  you 
would  come  after  mc.'  " 

"  Good  Heavens  ! "  I  cried  ;  "  and  what 
did  you  say  ?  " 

"  Say  ?  Heavens  and  earth,  man !  what 
eoidd  I  say  ?  Wasn't  I  a  gentleman  ? 
Wasn't  she  a  lady  ?  Hadn't  I  forced  her 
to  commit  herself?  Didn't  I  have  to  as- 
sume the  responsibility  and  pocket  the  con- 
sequences ?  Say  !  Oh,  Macrorie !  what  is 
the  use  of  imagination,  if  a  man  will  not 
exercise  it  ?  " 

"  And  so  you're  in  for  it  ?  "  said  I,  after 
a  pause. 

"  To  the  dejith  of  several  miles,"  said 
Jack,  relighting  his  pipe,  which  in  the 
energy  of  his  narrative  had  gone  out. 

"  And  you  don't  think  of  trying  to  back 
out?" 

"  I  don't  see  my  way.  Then,  again,  you 
must  know  that  I've  been  trying  to  see  if  it 
wouldn't  be  the  wisest  thing  for  mc  to  make 
the  best  of  my  situation." 

"  Certainly  it  would,  if  you  cannot  possi- 
bly get  out  of  it." 

"  But,  you  see,  for  a  fellow  like  mc  it 
may  be  best  not  to  got  out  of  it.  You 
see,  after  all,  I  like  her  very  well.  She's 
iin  awfully  fine  woman — splendid  action. 
I've  been  round  there  ever  so  much ;  we've 
always  been  deuced  thick ;  and  she's  got  a 


-,.ii««i««i»- 


12 


TIIK  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


»  'I 


I 


I 


kind  of  way  v.ii'.i  lior  that  a  fellow  like  me 
can't  resist.  Ami,  then,  it's  time  for  me 
to  begin  to  think  of  settling  down.  I'm 
getting  awfully  old,  I'll  be  twenty-three 
next  August.  And  then,  you  know,  I'm  so 
deuced  hard  up.  I've  got  to  the  end  of  my 
rope,  and  you  arc  aware  that  the  sherilV  is 
beginning  to  be  familiar  with  my  name. 
Yes,  I  think  for  the  credit  of  the  regiment 
I'd  belter  take  the  widow.  She's  got  thirty 
thousand  pounds,  at  least." 

"  And  a  very  nice  face  and  figure  along 
■with  it,"  said  I,  encouragingly. 

"  That's  a  fact,  or  else  I  could  never 
have  mistaken  her  for  poor  little  Louie, 
and  this  wouldn't  have  happened.  I3ut, 
if  it  had  only  been  little  Louie — well,  well ; 
I  suppose  it  nmst  be,  and  perhaps  it's  the 
best  thing." 

"If  it  had  been  Louie,"  said  I,  with  new 
clTorts  at  encouragement,  "  it  wouldn't  have 
been  any  better  for  you." 

"  Xo ;  that's  a  fact.  You  see,  I  was 
never  so  much  bothered  in  my  life.  I 
don't  mind  an  ordir  .y  scrape ;  but  I  can't 
exactly  see  my  way  out  of  this." 

"  You'll  have  to  break  the  news  to  Miss 
riiillips." 

"  And  that's  not  the  worst,"  said  Jack, 
with  a  sigh  that  was  like  a  groan. 

"  Xot  the  worst  ?  "U'hat  can  be  worse 
than  that  ?  " 

"  My  dear  boy,  you  have  not  begun  to 
see  even  the  outside  of  the  peculiarly  com- 
plicated nature  of  my  present  situation. 
There  are  other  circumstances  to  which 
all  these  may  be  playfully  represented  as 
a  joke." 

"  Well,  that  is  certainly  a  strong  way  of 
putting  it." 

"  Couldn't  draw  it  mild — such  a  situation 
can  only  be  painted  in  strong  colors.  I'll 
tell  you  in  general  terms  what  it  is.  I 
can't  go  into  particulars.     You  know  all 


about  my  engagement  to  Miss  Phillips, 
I'm  awfully  fond  of  her — give  my  right 
hand  to  win  hers,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
you  know.  Well,  this  is  going  to  be  hard 
on  her,  of  course,  poor  thing !  especially 
as  my  last  letters  have  been  more  tender 
than  common.  Hut,  old  chap,  that's  nil 
nothing.  There's  another  lady  in  the 
case ! " 

"  What !  "  I  cried,  more  astonished  than 
ever. 

Jack  looked  at  mo  earnestly,  and  said, 
slowly  and  solemnly : 

CIIAPTER   V. 

"  FACT,  SIT  BOr — IT  IS  AS  I  SAY, — TIIEHE'S 
AXOTItEU  LADY  IN  THE  CASE,  AND  THIS 
LAST   IS  TIIE   WORST  SCllAPE   OF  ALL  !  " 

"  Another  lady  ?  "  I  faltered. 

"  Another  lady  !  "  said  Jack. 

"  Oh  I  "  said  I. 

"  Yes,"  said  he. 

"  An  engagement,  too  !  " 

"  An  engagement  ?  I  should  think  so 
— and  a  double-barrelled  one,  too.  An 
engagement — why,  my  dear  fellow,  an  en- 
gagement's nothing  at  all  compared  with 
this.  This  is  something  infinitely  worse 
than  the  affair  with  Louie,  or  Miss  Thillips, 
or  even  the  widow.  It's  a  bad  case — yes 
— an  infernally  bad  case — and  I  don't  see 
but  that  I'll  have  to  throw  up  the  widow 
after  all." 

"  It  must  be  a  bad  ease,  if  it's  infinitely 
worse  than  an  engagement,  as  you  say  it 
is.  Why,  man,  it  must  be  nothing  less 
than  actual  marriage.  Is  that  what  you're 
driving  at?  It  must  Ic.  So  you're  a  mar- 
ried man,  are  you  ?  " 

"  Xo,  not  just  that,  not  quite — as  yet — 
but  the  very  next  thing  to  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  Jack,  I'm  sorry  for  you,  and  all 


"FACT,  MY  BOY." 


13 


:nJ  sail], 


i 


I 


that  1  can  say  is,  tli;it  it  is  a  pity  tliat  this 
isn't  Utah.  Being  Canada,  however,  and  a 
civilized  country,  I  can't  see  for  the  life 
of  nio  liow  you'll  ever  manage  to  pull 
through." 

Jack  sighed  dolefully. 

"  To  tel!  the  truth,"  said  he,  "  it's  this 
last  cue  that  gives  mo  my  only  trouble. 
I'd  marry  the  widow,  settle  up  some  way 
with  Miss  Phillips,  smother  my  shame,  and 
pass  the  remainder  of  my  life  in  peaceful 
obscuHt}',  if  it  were  not  for  her.'''' 

"  You  mean  by  /« v,  the  lady  whoso  name 
you  don't  mention." 

"  Whoso  name  I  don't  mention,  nor  in- 
tend to,"  said  Jack,  gravely.  "  Ilcr  case  is 
so  peculiar  that  it  cannot  be  classed  witli 
the  otliors.  I  never  breathed  a  word  about 
it  to  anybodj',  though  it's  been  going  on  for 
six  or  eight  months." 

Jack  spoke  with  such  earnestness,  tiiat 
I  perceived  the  subject  to  be  too  grave  a 
one  in  his  estimation  to  be  trifled  with. 
A  frown  came  over  liis  face,  and  he  once 
more  eased  his  mind  by  sending  forth 
heavy  clouds  of  smoke,  as  though  he  would 
thus  throw  off  the  clouds  of  melancholy 
that  had  gathered  deep  and  dark  over  his 
soul. 

"  I'll  make  a  clean  breast  of  it,  old 
chap,"  said  he,  at  length,  with  a  very  heavy 
sigh.  "  It's  a  bad  business  from  beginning 
to  end.'' 

"  You  SCO,"  said  he,  after  a  long  pause, 
in  which  he  seemed  to  be  collecting  his 
thoughts — "  it  began  last  year — the  time  I 
went  to  Xew  York,  you  know.  She  went 
on  at  the  same  time.  Slie  had  nobody 
with  her  but  a  deaf  old  party,  and  got  into 
some  row  at  the  station  about  her  luggage. 
I  helped  her  out  of  it,  and  sat  by  her  side 
all  the  way.  At  New  York  I  kept  up  the 
acquaintance.  I  came  back  with  them, 
that  is  to  say,  with  hor,  and  the  deaf  old 


party,  you  know,  and  by  the  time  wc 
reached  Quebec  again  we  understood  one 
another. 

"  I  couldn't  help  it— I'll  be  hanged  if  I 
could  !  You  see,  Macroric,  it  wasn't  an  or- 
dinary case.  She  Avas  the  loveliest  little 
girl  I  ever  saw,  and  I  found  myself  awfully 
lo'id  of  her  in  no  time.  1  soon  saw  that 
she  was  fond  of  me  too.  All  my  other 
affairs  were  a  joke  to  thi.'?.  I  wanted  to 
marry  her  in  New  York,  but  the  thought 
of  my  debts  frightened  me  out  of  that,  and 
so  I  put  it  off.  I  half  wisli  now  »  hadn't 
been  so  confoundedly  prudent.  Perhaps 
it  is  best,  though.  Still  I  don't  know. 
Better  be  the  wife  of  a  poor  devil,  than 
have  one's  heart  broken  by  a  mean  devil. 
Ileigho ! " 

II  E  I  G  II  0  arc  the  letters  which  are 
usually  employed  to  represent  a  sigh  I 
use  them  in  aeeordanee  with  the  customs 
of  the  literary  world. 

"  AVcll,"  resumed  Jack,  "  after  my  re- 
turn I  called  on  her,  and  repeated  my  call 
several  times.  Slie  was  all  that  could  be 
desired,  but  her  father  was  dilTercnt,  I 
found  him  rather  chilly,  and  not  at  all  in- 
clined to  receive  me  with  that  joyous  hos- 
pitality which  my  various  merits  deserved. 
The  young  lady  herself  seemed  sad.  I 
found  out,  at  last,  that  the  old  gentleman 
amused  himself  with  badgering  hor  about 
me ;  and  finally  she  told  mo,  with  tears, 
that  her  father  requested  me  to  visit  that 
house  no  more.  Well,  at  that  I  was  some- 
what taken  aback  ;  but,  nevertheless,  I  de- 
termined to  wait  till  the  old  gentleman  him- 
self should  speak.  You  know  my  peculiar 
coolness,  old  chap,  that  which  you  and  the 
rest  call  my  happy  audacity  ;  and  you  may 
believe  that  it  was  all  needed  under  such 
circumstances  as  these.  I  went  to  the 
house  twice  after  that.  Each  time  my  lit 
tie  girl  v,as  half  laughing  with  joy,  half  cry 


14 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE 


't; 


ing  witli  foar  nt  scciiiji  nip;  nml  cncli  tiitif 
slie  lirgcd  me  to  kuop  away.  !»lie  said  we 
could  wiitu  to  one  niidther.  But  letter- 
writing  wasn't  in  my  line.  So  after  try- 
ing in  vain  to  (>\w\  lier,  I  went  once  more 
ill  desperation  to  explain  matters. 

"  Instead  of  seeing  her,  I  found  the  old 
fellow  himself.  lie  was  siiiiidy  white,  hot 
with  rage — not  at  all  noisy,  or  deelamatoiy, 
or  vulgar — but  cool,  cutting,  and  altogether 
tenilio.  He  alluded  to  my  gentlemanly  con- 
duet  in  forcing  myself  where  I  liad  lieen 
ordered  olf;  and  informed  me  that  if  I 
came  again  he  would  hjj  under  the  unpleas- 
ant necessity  of  using  a  horsewhi]).  That, 
of  course,  made  me  savage.  I  pitched  into 
him  pretty  well,  and  gave  it  to  him  hot  and 
heavy,  but,  hang  it !  I'm  no  match  for  fel- 
lows of  that  sort ;  he  kept  .«o  cool,  you 
know,  while  I  was  furious — and  the  long 
and  the  short  of  it  is,  that  I  had  to  retire 
in  disorder,  vowing  on  him  some  mysterious 
vengeance  or  other,  whieh  I  have  never  been 
able  to  carry  out. 

"  The  next  day  I  got  a  letter  from  her. 
It  was  awfully  sad,  blotted  with  tears,  and 
all  that.  She  implored  me  to  write  her, 
told  me  she  couldn't  see  me,  spoke  about 
her  father's  cruelty  and  persecution — and 
ever  so  many  other  things  not  necessary 
to  mention.  Well,  I  wrote  back,  and  she 
answered  my  letter,  and  so  we  got  into  the 
way  of  a  correspondence  which  we  kept  up 
at  a  perfectly  furious  rate.  It  came  hard 
on  me,  of  course,  for  I'm  not  much  at  a 
pen ;  my  letters  were  short,  as  you  may 
suppose,  but  then  they  were  full  of  point, 
and  what  matters  quantity  so  long  as  you 
have  ([uality,  you  know  ?  Her  letters, 
however,  poor  little  darling,  were  long  and 
eloquent,  and  full  of  a  kind  of  mixture  of 
love,  hope,  and  despair.  At  first  I  thought 
that  I  should  grow  reconciled  to  my  situa- 
tion in  the  course  of  time,  but,  instead  of 


that,  it  grew  worse  every  day.  I  tried  to 
forget  all  about  her,  but  without  success. 
The  fact  is,  I  chafed  under  the  restraint 
that  was  on  me,  and  perhaps  it  was  that 
whieh  was  the  worst  of  all.  I  dare  say 
now  if  I'd  only  been  in  some  other  place — 
in  Montreal,  for  instance — I  wouldn't  have 
had  such  a  tough  time  of  it,  and  might 
gradually  have  forgotten  al)0ut  her ;  but 
the  mischief  of  it  was,  I  was  here — in  Que- 
bec— close  by  her,  you  may  say,  and  yet  I 
was  forbidden  the  house.  I  had  been  in- 
sulted and  threatened.  This,  of  course, 
only  made  matters  worse,  and  the  end  of 
it  was,  I  thought  of  nothing  else.  Jly  very 
cflbrts  to  get  rid  of  the  bother  only  made 
it  a  dozen  times  worse.  I  flung  myself 
into  ladies'  society  with  my  usual  ardor, 
only  worse;  committed  myself  right  and 
left,  and  seemed  to  be  a  model  of  a  gay 
Lothario.  Little  did  they  suspect  that 
under  a  smiling  face  I  concealed  a  heart 
of  ashes — yes,  old  boy — ashes  !  as  I'm  a 
living  sinner.  You  see,  all  the  time,  I  was 
maddened  at  that  miserable  old  scoundrel 
who  wouldn't  let  me  visit  his  daughter — 
me,  Jack  Randolph,  an  oflicer,  and  a  gen- 
tleman, and,  what  is  more,  a  Bobtail ! 
Why,  ray  ver'y  uniform  should  have  been 
a  guarantee  ior  my  honorable  conduct. 
Then,  again,  in  addition  to  this,  I  hank- 
ered after  her,  you  know,  most  awfidly. 
At  last  I  couldn't  stand  it  any  longer,  so 
I  wrote  her  a  letter.  It  was  only  yester- 
day. And  now,  old  chap,  what  do  you 
think  I  wrote  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,"  said  I,  mistily; 
"  a  declaration  of  love,  perhaps — " 

"  A  declaration  of  love  ?  pooh  !  "  said 
Jack  ;  "  as  if  I  had  ever  written  any  thing 
else  than  that.  Why,  all  my  letters  were 
nothing  else.  No,  my  boy — this  letter  was 
very  different.  In  the  first  place,  I  told 
her  that  I  was  desperate — then  I  assured 


^m 


JACK'S  PKOPOSAL. 


15 


tn 


her  tlmt  I  couldn't  live  this  way  any  longer, 
ond  I  concluded  witli  a  pvopo.sul  as  despe- 
rate OH  my  pituiitidii.  And  what  do  you 
think  my  proposal  was  ?  " 

"  Proposal  ?  Why,  marriage,  of  course ; 
there  is  only  one  kind  of  ])r()posal  possi- 
ble under  such  circunistanccH.  I5ut  still 
that's  not  much  more  than  an  engagement, 
dear  boy,  for  an  engagement  means  only 
the  same  thing,  namely,  marriage." 

"  Oh,  but  this  was  far  stronger — It  was 
dilTerent,  I  can  tell  you,  from  any  mere 
proposal  of  marriage.  What  do  you  think 
it  was  ?     Guess." 

"Can't.     Haven't  an  idea." 

"  Well,"  said  Jack— 

CIIArTEU   VI. 
"  I   nirLORED  iiEn  to  run  away  with  me, 

AND  HAVE  A  I'ltlVATE  MAIIKIACIF,,  LEAVING 
THE  REST  TO  FATE.  AND  I  SOLEMNLY  AS- 
SURED HER  THAT,  IF  SHE  refused,  I  WOULD 
BLOW  MY  DRAINS  OUT  ON  HER  DOOR-STEPS. 
— THERE,  now!  what  DO  YOU  THINK  OP 
THAT  ?  " 

Paying  the  above  words,  Jack  leaned 
back,  and  surveyed  me  with  the  stem  com- 
placency of  despair.  After  staring  at  me 
for  some  time,  and  evidently  taking  some 
sort  of  grim  comfort  out  of  the  speechless- 
ness to  which  he  had  reduced  me  by  his 
unparalleled  narrative,  he  continued  his  con- 
fessions : 

"  Last  night,  I  made  that  infernal  blun- 
der with  the  widow — confound  her! — that 
is,  I  mean  of  course,  bless  her!  It's  all 
the  same,  you  know.  To-day  you  behold 
the  miserable  state  to  which  I  am  le- 
ducod.  To-morrow  I  will  get  a  reply  from 
her.  Of  course,  she  will  consent  to  fly.  I 
know  very  well  how  it  will  be.  She  will 
hint  at  some  feasible  mode,  and  some  con- 


venient time.  She  will,  of  course,  expect 
me  to  settle  it  all  up,  fruni  her  timid  litllo 
hints;  and  I  must  settle  it  up,  and  not 
lircak  my  faith  with  her.  And  now,  Ma- 
crorie,  I  ask  you,  not  merely  as  an  ofliccr 
and  a  gentleman,  but  as  a  man,  a  fellow- 
Christian,  and  a  sympathi/ing  friend,  what 
under  Heaven  am  I  to  do?  " 

He  stopped,  leaned  back  in  his  chair, 
lighted  onee  more  his  extinguished  pipe, 
and  I  could  sec  through  the  dense  volumes 
of  smoke  which  he  blew  forth,  his  eyes 
fixed  earnestly  upon  me,  gleaming  like  two 
stars  from  behind  gloomy  storni-elouds. 

I  sat  in  silence,  and  thought  long  and 
painfully  over  the  situation.  I  could  como 
to  no  conclusion,  but  I  had  to  say  some- 
thing, and  I  said  it. 

"  Put  it  od',"  said  I  at  last,  in  a  general 
state  of  daze. 

"Put  what  off?" 

"  What '?  Wh}',  the  widow — no,  the — 
the  elopement,  of  course.  Yes,"  I  con- 
tinned,  firndy,  "  put  off  the  elopement." 

"  Put  ofl"  the  elopement ! "  ejaculated 
Jack.  "  What !  after  proposing  it  so  des- 
peratel}' — after  threatening  to  blow  my 
brains  out  in  front  of  her  door  ?  " 

"  That  certainly  is  a  consideration,"  said 
I,  thoughtfully ;  "  but  can't  you  have — well, 
brain-fever — yes,  that's  it,  and  can't  you 
get  some  friend  to  send  word  to  her  ?  " 

"  That's  all  very  well ;  but,  you  see,  I'd 
have  to  keep  my  room.  If  I  went  out, 
she'd  hear  of  it.  She's  got  a  wonderful 
way  of  hearing  about  my  movements. 
She'll  find  out  about  the  widow  before 
the  week's  over.  Oh,  no !  that's  not  to 
be  done." 

"Well,  then,"  said  I,  desperately,  " let 
her  find  it  out.  The  blow  would  then  fall 
a  little  more  gently." 

"  You  seem  to  me,"  said  Jack,  rather 
huflily,  "to  propose  that  I  should  quietly 


I 


10 


TIIK  LADY  OF  TIIK  ICK. 


I 


.' 


prot'ccJ  to  ))rculi  licr  hoiirt.  \o !  Hang 
it,  mail,  if  it  (.'omi's  to  that  I'll  ilo  it  openly, 
and  niako  a  cloun  breast  of  it,  vilhout 
Blianiiuiiig  or  liei'i)iiig  lior  in  .suspense." 

"Wi'll,  then,"  I  responded,  "why  not 
bron'-  oil' with  the  widow  V" 

"  I^reak  oil'  with  the  widow!"  cried 
Jack,  with  the  wondering  accent  of  a  niun 
who  has  heard  sonic  impossible  proposal. 

"Certainly;  why  not?" 

"  Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  inform  nic 
what  thing  short  of  death  could  ever  de- 
liver me  out  of  her  hands?"  asked  Jack, 
mildly. 

"  Elope,  as  you  proposed," 

"That's  the  very  thing  I  thought  of;  but 
ill'!  troulilc  is,  in  that  case  she  would  de- 
vote the  rest  of  her  life  to  vengeance. 
'  IIcll  hath  no  fury  like  a  woman  wronged,' 
you  know.  She'd  move  heaven  and  earth, 
and  never  end,  till  I  was  drummed  out  of 
the  regiment.  No,  my  boy.  To  do  that 
would  be  to  walk  with  open  eyes  to  dis- 
grace,  and  shame,  and  infamy,  with  a  whole 
community,  a  whole  regiment,  and  the 
llorsc-tiuards  at  the  back  of  them,  all 
banded  together  to  crush  mo.  Such  a  fate 
as  this  would  hardly  be  the  proper  thing  to 
give  to  a  wife  that  a  fellow  loves." 

"  Can't  you  manage  to  make  the  widow 
disgusted  with  you  ?  " 

"No,  I  can't,"  said  Jack,  peevishly. 
"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"Why,  make  it  appear  as  though  you 
only  wanted  to  marry  licr  for  her  money." 

"  Oh,  hang  it,  man !  how  could  I  do 
that?  I  can't  play  a  part,  under  any  cir- 
cumstances, and  that  particular  part  would 
bo  so  infernally  mean,  that  it  would  be  im- 
possible. I'm  sueh  an  ass  that,  if  she  wore 
even  to  hint  at  that,  I'd  resent  it  furious- 
ly." 

"  Can't  you  make  her  afraid  about  your 
numerous  gallantries  ?  " 


"  Afraiil  ?  why  she  glories  in  them.  So 
many  feathers  In  her  cap,  and  all  that,  you 
know," 

"  Can't  you  frighten  lier  about  your  debts 
and  general  extravagance — hint  that  you're 
a  gambler,  and  so  on  ?  " 

"And  then  alie'd  inform  me,  very  afTec- 
tionately,  that  she  intends  to  be  my  guar- 
dian angel,  and  save  mo  from  evil  for  all 
the  rest  of  my  life." 

"Can't  you  tell  her  all  obout  your  sol- 
emn engagement  to  Miss  riiillips  ? " 

"  My  engagement  to  Miss  riiillips  ?  Why, 
man  alive,  she  knows  that  as  well  as  you 
do." 

"  Knows  it !    How  did  she  find  it  out  ?  " 

"  How  ?     Why  I  told  her  myself." 

"  The  deuce  you  did  ! " 

Jack  was  silent. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  I,  after  some  further 
thought,  "why  not  toll  her  every  thing?" 

"Tellher  every  thing?" 

"  Yes — exactly  what  you've  been  telling 
me.     Make  a  clean  breast  of  it." 

Jack  looked  at  me  for  some  time  with  a 
curious  expression. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  said  he,  at  length,  "  do 
you  mean  to  say  that  you  are  really  in  car- 
nest  in  making  that  proposition  ?  " 

"  Jlost  solemnly  in  earnest,"  said  I. 

"  Well,"  said  Jack,  "  it  shows  how  mis- 
taken I  was  in  leaving  any  thing  to  your 
imagination.  Y'ou  do  not  seem  to  under- 
stand," he  conlinucd,  dolefully,  "or  you 
will  not  understand  that,  when  a  fellow 
has  committed  himself  to  a  lady  as  I  did, 
and  squeezed  her  hand  with  such  peculiar 
ardor,  in  his  olforts  to  save  himself  and 
do  what's  right,  he  often  overdoes  it.  Y'ou 
don't  seem  to  suspect  that  I  might  have 
overdone  it  with  the  widow.  Now,  unfor- 
tunately, that  is  tlie  very  thing  that  I  did. 
I  did  happen  to  overdo  it  most  confound- 
edly.   And  so  the  melancholy  fact  remains 


>  (! 


^J.i.»»«'— —""I"*' 


3^S 


CKOSSINO  THE  ST.  LAWIJENCE. 


17 


tlmt,  if  I  were  to  repeat  to  her,  verbatim, 
nil  tlmt  I've  been  telling  you,  »!io  wotiM 
fiiiil  an  ('xtriionlinary  discrcimncy  between 
sueh  BtiiteinentH  nnd  tliono  alioiniiiiibly 
tender  confessions  in  which  I  indulged  on 
that  other  occasion.  Nothing  would  ever 
convince  her  that  I  was  not  sincere  at  that 
time ;  and  how  can  I  go  to  her  now  and 
confess  that  I  am  a  humbug  and  an  idiot  ? 
I  don't  see  it.  Come,  now,  old  fellow,  what 
do  you  think  of  that  ?  Don't  you  call  it 
rather  a  tough  situation  ?  Do  you  think 
a  man  can  see  his  way  out  of  it  ?  Own  up, 
now.  Don't  you  think  it's  about  the  worst 
scrape  you  ever  heard  of?  Conic,  now,  no 
humbug." 

Tho  fellow  Bccmcd  actually  to  begin  to 
feel  a  dismal  kind  of  pride  in  tho  very 
hopelessness  of  his  situation,  and  looked 
at  me  with  a  gloomy  enjoyment  of  my  dis- 
comfiture. 

For  my  part,  I  said  nothing,  and  for  the 
best  of  reasons  :  I  had  nothing  to  say.  So 
I  took  refuge  in  shaking  my  head. 

"  You  see,"  Jack  persisted,  "  there's  no 
help  for  it.  Nobody  can  do  any  thing. 
There's  only  one  thing,  and  that  you  haven't 
suggested." 

"  What's  that?  "  I  asked,  feebly. 

Jack  put  the  tip  of  his  forefinger  to  his 
forehead,  and  snapped  his  thumb  against 
his  third. 

"  I  haven't  much  brains  to  speak  of,"  said 
he,  "but  if  I  did  happen  to  blow  out  what 
little  I  may  have,  it  would  be  tho  easiest 
Bcttlement  of  the  difilculty.  It  would  be 
cutting  the  knot,  instead  of  attempting  the 
impossible  task  of  untying  it.  Nobody 
would  blame  mo.  Everybody  would  mourn 
for  me,  and,  above  all,  four  tender  female 
hearts  would  feel  a  pang  of  sorrow  for 
my  untimely  fate.  By  all  four  I  should 
be  not  cursed,  but  canonized.  Only  one 
class  would  suffer,  and  those  would  be  wel- 
3 


come  to  their  agonies.  I  allude,  of  course, 
to  my  friends  the  Duns." 

To  this  eccentric  proposal,  I  made  no  re- 
ply  whatever. 

"Well,"  said  Jack,  thoughtfully,  "it 
isn't  a  bad  idea.  Not  a  bad  idea,"  ho  re- 
peateil,  rising  from  his  chair  and  putting 
down  his  pipe,  which  had  again  gone  out 
owing  to  his  persistent  lo(|uaci(y.  "I'H 
think  it  over,"  ho  continued,  seriously. 
"  You  bear  In  mind  my  little  directions 
about  tho  head-stone,  Macroric,  four  feet 
by  eighteen  inches,  old  fellow,  very  plain, 
and,  mark  me,  only  tho  namo  and  date. 
Not  a  word  about  tho  virtues  of  tho  de- 
ceased, etc,  I  can  stand  a  great  deal,  but 
that  I  will  not  stand.  And  now,  old  chap, 
I  must  be  off;  you  can't  do  mo  any  good,  I 

SCO." 

"  At  any  rate,  you'll  wait  till  to-morrow," 
said  I,  carelessly. 

"  Oh,  there's  no  hurry,"  said  he.  "  Of 
course,  I  must  wait  till  then.  I'll  let  you 
know  if  any  thing  new  turns  up." 

And  saying  this,  he  took  his  <!cparture. 


CIIArTER   VII. 

CUOSSIN'O  THK  ST.  LAWRENCE. — THE  STOUM 
AND  THE  DllEAK-Ur. — A  WONDERFCL  AD- 
venture.— a  struggle  for  life. — who  is 
she  ? — the  ice-ridge, — fly  for  your 
life! 

On  the  following  day  I  found  myself  com- 
pelled to  go  on  some  routine  duty  cross  the 
river  to  Toint  Levy.  Tho  weather  was  the 
most  abominable  of  that  abominable  sea- 
son. It  was  winter,  and  yet  not  Winter's 
self.  The  old  gentleman  had  lost  all  that 
bright  and  hilarious  nut'irc;  all  that  spark- 
ling and  exciting  stimulus  which  ho  owns 
nnd  holds  here  so  joyously  in  January, 
February,  and  oven  Starch.     lie  was  de- 


I  I 


18 


THE  LADY   OF  THE  ICE. 


crcpit,  yet  spiteful ;  a  lioai'v,  oi  1,  tottering, 
palsied  villain,  hurling  curses  at  all  who 
ventured  into  his  evil  presenee.  One  look 
outside  ehowcd  mo  the  full  nature  of  all 
that  was  before  me,  and  revealed  the  old 
tvrant  in  the  full  power  of  his  malignancy. 
The  air  was  raw  and  chill.  There  blew  a 
fierce,  blighting  wind,  which  brought  with 
it  showers  of  stinging  sleet.  The  wooden 
pavements  were  overspread  with  a  thin 
layer  of  ice.,  so  glassy  that  walking  could 
only  be  attempted  at  extreme  hazard  ;  the 
houses  were  incrusted  with  the  same  cheer- 
ful coating  ;  and,  of  all  the  beastly  weather 
that  I  had  ever  seen,  there  had  never  been 
any  equal  to  this.  However,  there  was  no 
escape  from  it ;  and  so,  wrapping  myself  up 
as  well  as  I  could,  I  took  a  stout  ."tick  with 
a  sharp  iron  ferrule,  and  plunged  forth  into 
the  storm. 

On  reaching  the  river,  the  view  was  any 
thing  but  satisfactory.  The  wind  here  was 
tremendous,  and  the  sleet  blew  down  in 
long,  horizontal  lines,  every  separate  par- 
ticle giving  its  separate  sting,  while  the 
accumulated  stings  amounted  to  perfect 
torment.  I  paused  for  a  while  to  get  a 
little  shelter,  and  take  breath  before  ven- 
turing across. 

There  were  other  reasons  for  pausing. 
The  season  was  well  advanced,  and  tlie  ice 
was  not  considered  particularly  safe,  ifany 
things  conspired  to  give  indications  of  a 
bre.ak-up.  The  ice  on  the  surface  was  soft, 
honey-combed,  and  crumbling.  Xcar  the 
shore  was  a  channel  of  open  water.  Far- 
ther out,  where  the  current  ran  strongest, 
the  ice  was  heaped  up  in  hillocks  and 
mounds,  while  in  different  directions  ap- 
peared crevices  of  greater  or  less  width. 
Looking  over  that  broad  surface  as  .^ell  as 
I  could  through  the  driving  storm,  where 
not  long  before  I  had  seen  crowds  passing 
and  repassing,  not  a  soul  was  now  visible. 


This  might  have  been  owing  to  the  insecu- 
rity of  the  ice  ;  but  it  might  also  have  been 
owing  to  the  severity  of  the  weather. 
RIack  enough,  at  any  rate,  the  scene  ap- 
peared ;  and  I  looked  forth  upon  it  from 
my  temporary  shelter  with  the  certainty 
that  this  river  before  me  was  a  particularly 
hard  road  to  travel. 

"  Ye'll  no  be  gangin'  owcr  the  day,  sew- 
er/y.?"  said  a  voice  near  me. 

I  turned  ami  saw  a  brawny  figure  in  a 
reefing-jackct  and  "  sou'-wester."  lie 
might  liave  been  a  sailor,  or  a  scowman, 
or  a  hibernating  raftsman. 

"  Why  ? "  said  I. 

He  said  nothing,  but  shook  his  head  with 
solemn  emphasis, 

I  looked  for  a  few  moments  longer,  and 
hesitated.  Yet  there  was  no  remedy  for 
it,  bad  as  it  looked.  After  being  o)dered 
forward,  I  did  not  like  to  turn  back  ith  an 
excuse  about  the  weather.  Besides,  the  ice 
thus  far  had  lasted  well.  Only  the  day  be- 
fore, sleds  had  crossed.  There  was  no  rea- 
son why  I  should  not  cross  now.  Why 
should  I  in  particular  be  doomed  to  a  catas- 
trophe more  than  any  other  man  ?  And, 
finally,  was  not  McGoggiu  there  ?  Was  he 
not  always  ready  with  his  warmest  wel- 
come ?  On  a  stormy  day,  did  he  not  always 
keep  his  water  up  to  the  boiling-point,  and 
did  not  the  very  best  whiskey  in  Quebec 
diffuse  about  his  chamber  its  aromatic 
odor? 

I  moved  forward.     The  die  was  cast. 

The  channel  near  the  shore  was  from 
si.t  to  twelve  feet  in  width,  tilled  with  float- 
ing fragments.  Over  this  I  scr.imbled  in 
safety.  As  I  advanced,  I  could  sec  that  in 
one  day  a  great  change  had  taken  place. 
The  surface-ice  was  soft  and  disintegrated, 
crushing  readily  under  the  feet.  All  around 
rac  extended  wide  pools  of  water.  From 
beneath    these  arose  occasional  groaning 


1  I, 


CKOSSING  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE. 


19 


to  the  insccu- 
Iso  Imvc  1)0011 
the  weather, 
tlie  scene  np- 
upon  it  frciiu 
tlio  certainty 
a  particularly 

the  day,  scv- 

ly  figure  in  .1 
ester."  lie 
r  a  scowman, 


bis  head  with 

ts  longer,  and 

0  remedy  for 
being  ordered 

1  back  ith  an 
iesidcs,  the  ice 
ly  the  day  bo- 
re was  no  rea- 

novr.  Why 
led  toacatas- 
nian  ?  And, 
re  ?  Was  he 
warmest  wcl- 
he  not  always 
ng-point,  and 
Dy  in  Quebec 
its    aromatic 

was  cast, 
re  was  from 
ed  with  float- 
scr.imbled  in 
lid  see  that  in 
taken  place, 
disintegrated, 
t.  All  around 
tvator.  From 
)nal  groaning 


sounds — dull,  heavy  crunches,  which  seemed 
to  indicate  a  speedy  break-up.  The  prog- 
ress of  the  season,  with  its  thaws  and  rains, 
had  been  gradually  weakening  the  ice ;  along 
the  shore  its  hold  had  in  some  places  at  least 
been  relaxed ;  and  the  gale  of  wind  that  was 
now  blowing  was  preci:!^oly  of  that  descrip- 
tion which  most  frequently  swoops  away 
rcsistlcssly  the  icy  fetters  of  the  river,  and 
sets  all  the  impiisoned  waters  free.  At 
every  step  new  signs  of  this  approaching 
break-up  became  visible.  From  time  to 
time  I  encountered  gaps  in  the  ice,  of  a 
foot  or  two  in  width,  which  did  not  of  them- 
selves amount  to  much,  but  which  never- 
theless served  to  show  plainly  the  state  of 
things. 

My  progress  was  excessively  difficult. 
The  walking  was  laborious  on  account  of 
the  ice  itsi'lf  and  the  pools  through  which  I 
had  to  wade.  Then  there  were  frequent 
gaps,  which  sometimes  could  only  be  trav- 
ersed by  a  long  detour.  Above  all,  there 
was  the  furious  sleet,  which  drove  down  the 
river,  borne  on  by  the  tempest,  with  a  fury 
and  unrelaxing  pertinacity  that  I  never  saw 
equalled.  However,  I  managed  to  toil  on- 
ward, and  at  length  reached  the  centre  of 
the  river,  Here  I  found  a  new  and  more 
serious  obstacle.  At  this  point  the  ice  had 
divided;  and  in  the  channel  thus  formed 
there  was  a  vast  accumulation  of  ice-cakes, 
heaped  up  one  above  the  other  in  a  long 
ridge,  wliieli  extended  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  reach.  There  were  great  gaps  in  it, 
however,  and  to  cross  it  needed  so  much 
caution,  and  so  much  elTort,  that  I  paused 
for  a  while,  and,  setting  my  back  to  the 
wind,  looked  around  to  examine  the  situa- 
tion. 

Wild  enough  that  scene  appeared.  On 
one  side  was  my  destination,  but  dimly  vis- 
ible through  the  storm ;  on  the  other  rose 
the  dark  cliff  of  Cape  Diamond,  frowning 


gloomily  over  the  river,  crowned  with  the 
citadel,  where  the  flag  of  Old  England  was 
streaming  straight  out  at  the  impulse  of 
the  blast,  with  a  stiffness  that  made  it 
seem  as  though  it  had  been  frozen  in  the 
air  rigid  in  that  situation.  Up  the  river 
all  was  black  and  gloomy ;  and  the  storm 
which  burst  from  that  quarter  obscured  the 
view ;  down  the  river  the  prospect  was  as 
gloom}-,  but  one  thing  was  plainly  visible 
— a  wide,  black  surface,  terminating  the 
gray  of  the  ice,  and  showing  that  there  at 
least  the  break-up  had  begun,  and  the  river 
had  resumed  its  sway. 

A  brief  survey  showed  mc  all  this,  and 
for  a  moment  crcn  ted  a.  strong  desire  to  go 
l)ack.  Another  moment,  however,  showed 
that  to  go  forward  was  quite  as  wise  and  as 
safe.  I  did  not  care  to  traverse  again  what 
I  had  gone  over,  and  the  natural  reluctance 
to  turn  back  from  the  half-way  house,  joined 
to  the  hope  of  better  things  for  the  rest 
of  the  way,  decided  me  to  go  forward. 

After  some  examination,  I  foimd  a  place 
on  which  to  cross  the  central  channel.  It 
was  a  point  where  the  heaps  of  ice  seemed 
at  once  more  easy  to  the  foot,  and  more 
secure.  At  extreme  risk,  and  by  violent 
efforts,  I  succeeded  in  crossing,  and,  on 
reaching  the  other  side,  I  found  the  ice 
more  promising.  Then,  hoping  that  the 
chief  danger  had  been  successfully  encoun- 
tered, I  gathered  up  my  energies,  and 
stepped  out  briskly  toward  the  opposite 
shore. 

It  was  not  without  the  greatest  difficulty 
and  the  utmost  discomfort  that  I  had  come 
thus  far.  My  clothes  were  coated  with 
frozen  sleet ;  my  hair  was  a  mass  of  ice ; 
and  my  boots  wore  filled  with  water. 
AV retched  as  all  this  was,  there  was  no 
remedy  for  it,  so  I  footed  it  as  best  I  could, 
trying  to  console  mj'self  by  thinking  over 
the  peaceful  pleasures  which  were  awaiting 


20 


THE  LADY   OF  THE  ICE. 


mc  at  the  cud  of  my  journey  ia  the  cham- 
bers of  the  liospituble  McGoggin. 

Suddenly,  as  I  walked  along,  peering  with 
half-closed  eyes  through  the  stormy  sleet 
before  me,  I  saw  at  some  distance  a  dark 
object  approaching.  After  a  time,  the  ob- 
ject drew  nearer,  and  resolved  itself  into 
a  sleigh.  It  came  onward  toward  the  cen- 
tre of  the  river,  which  it  reached  at  about 
a  hundred  yards  below  the  point  where  I 
had  crossed.  There  were  two  occupants  in 
the  sleigh,  one  crouching  low  and  muffled 
in  wraps ;  the  other  the  driver,  who  looked 
like  one  of  the  cjmmon  habitans.  Know- 
ing the  nature  of  the  river  there,  and  won- 
dering what  might  bring  a  sleigh  out  at 
such  a  time,  I  stopped,  and  watched  them 
with  a  vague  idea  of  shouting  to  them  to 
go  back.  Their  progress  thus  far  from  the 
opposite  shore,  so  far  at  least  as  I  could 
judge,  made  me  conclude  that  the  ice  on 
this  side  must  be  comparatively  good,  while 
my  own  journey  had  proved  that  on  the 
Quebec  side  it  was  utterly  impossible  for  a 
horse  to  go. 

As  they  reached  the  channel  where  the 
crumbled  ice-blocks  lay  floating,  heaped 
up  as  I  have  described,  the  sleigh  stopped, 
and  the  driver  looked  anxiously  around. 
At  that  very  instant  there  came  one  of 
those  low,  dull,  grinding  sounds  I  have  al- 
ready mentioned,  but  very  much  louder  than 
any  that  I  had  hitherto  heard.  Deep,  an- 
gry thuds  followed,  and  crunching  sounds, 
while  beneath  all  there  arose  a  solemn  mur- 
mur like  the  "  voice  of  many  waters."  I 
felt  the  ice  heave  under  my  feet,  and  sway 
in  long,  slow  undulations,  and  one  thought, 
quick  as  lightning,  flashed  horribly  into  my 
mind.  Instinctively  I  leaped  forward  tow- 
ard my  destination,  while  the  ice  rolled  and 
heaved  beneath  me,  and  the  dread  sounds 
grew  louder  at  every  step. 

Scarcely  had  I  gone  a  dozen  paces  when 


a  piercing  scream  arrested  me.  I  stopped 
and  looked  back.  For  a  few  moments 
only  had  I  turned  away,  yet  in  that  short 
interval  a  fearful  change  had  taken  place. 
The  long  ridge  of  ice  which  had  been 
heaped  up  in  the  mid-channel  had  in- 
creased to  thrice  its  former  height,  and 
the  crunching  and  gi'inding  of  the  vast 
masses  arose  above  the  roaring  of  the 
storm.  Far  up  the  river  there  came  a 
deeper  and  fuller  sound  of  the  same  kind, 
which,  brought  down  hy  the  wind,  burst 
with  increasing  terrors  upon  the  ear.  The 
ridge  of  ice  was  in  constant  motion,  being 
pressed  and  heaped  up  in  ever-increasing 
masses,  and,  as  it  heaped  itself  up,  top- 
pling over  and  falling  with  a  noise  like 
thunder.  There  could  be  '>ut  one  cause 
for  all  this,  and  the  fear  which  had  already 
flashed  through  my  brain  was  now  con- 
firmed to  my  sight.  The  ice  on  which  I 
stood  was  breaking  up ! 

As  all  this  burst  upon  my  sight,  I  saw 
tht  L,;eigh.  The  horse  had  stopped  in  front 
of  the  ridge  of  ice  in  the  mid-channel,  and 
was  rearing  and  plunging  violently.  The 
driver  was  lashing  furiously  and  trying  to 
turn  the  animal,  which,  frenzied  by  terror, 
and  maddened  by  the  stinging  sleet,  refused 
to  obey,  and  would  only  rear  and  kick. 
Suddenly  the  ice  under  the  sleigh  sank 
down,  and  a  flood  of  water  rolled  over  it, 
followed  by  an  avalanche  of  ice-blocks 
which  had  tumbled  from  the  ridge.  'V^  ith 
a  wild  snort  of  terror,  the  horse  turned, 
whirling  round  the  sleigh,  and  with  the 
speed  of  the  wind  dashed  back  toward  the 
shore.  As  the  sleigh  came  near,  I  saw  the 
driver  upright  and  trying  to  regain  his  com- 
mand of  the  horse,  and  at  that  instant  the 
other  passenger  started  erect.  The  cloak 
fell  back.  I  saw  a  face  pale,  overhung  with 
dishevelled  hair,  and  filled  with  an  anguish 
c  f  fear.     But  the  pallor  and  the  fear  could 


Ml!       1 


»»*e'f.Mei^-*  ■ 


f^^Mss^s^s^^mmmMBsmm. 


A 


CROSSING  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE. 


21 


e.  I  stopped 
few  moments 
in  that  short 

taken  place, 
eh  had  been 
unci  had  in- 
r  height,  and 

of  the  vast 
aring  of  the 
here  came  a 
lie  same  kind, 
e  wind,  burst 
the  ear.  The 
motion,  being 
ver-iucreasing 
tsolf  up,  top- 

a  noise  like 
mt  one  cause 
:h  had  already 
vas  now  con- 
e  on  which  I 

y  sight,  I  saw 
jpped  in  front 
i-channel,  and 
iolently.  The 
and  trying  to 
led  by  terror, 
;  sleet,  refused 
ar  and  kick, 
sleigh  sank 
oiled  over  it, 
of  ice-blocks 
ridge.  \\  ith 
dorse  turned, 
and  with  the 
;k  toward  the 
ear,  I  saw  the 
egain  his  com- 
at  instant  the 
t.  The  cloak 
)verhung  with 
th  an  anguish 
the  fear  could 


not  conceal  the  exquisite  loveliness  of  that 
woman-face,  which  was  thus  so  suddenly 
revealed  in  the  midst  of  the  storm  and  in 
the  presence  of  death;  and  which  now, 
beautiful  beyond  all  that  I  had  ever  dreamed 
of,  arose  before  ray  astonished  eyes.  It 
was  from  her  that  the  cry  had  come  but  a 
few  moments  before.  As  she  passed  she 
saw  me,  and  another  cry  escaped  her.  In 
another  moment  she  was  far  ahead. 

And  now  I  forgot  all  about  the  dangers 
around  me,  and  the  lessening  chances  of  an 
interview  with  McGoggin.  I  hurried  on,  less 
to  secure  my  own  safety  than  to  assist  the 
lady.  And  thus  as  I  rushed  onward  I  be- 
came aware  of  a  new  danger  which  arose 
darkly  between  me  and  the  shore.  It  was 
a  long,  black  channel,  gradually  opening  it- 
self up,  and  showing  in  its  gloomy  surface 
a  dividing  line  between  mc  and  life.  To  go 
back  seemed  now  impossible — to  go  for- 
ward was  to  meet  these  black  waters. 

To  -^ard  this  gulf  the  frightened  horse  ran 
at  headlong  speed.  Soon  he  reached  the 
margin  of  the  ice.  The  water  was  before 
him  and  headed  him  off.  Terrified  again  at 
this,  he  swerved  aside,  and  bounded  up  the 
river.  The  driver  pulled  frantically  at  the 
reins.  The  lady,  who  had  fallen  back  again 
in  her  seat,  was  motionless.  On  went  the 
horse,  and,  at  every  successive  leap  in  his 
mad  career,  the  sleigh  swung  wildly  hrst  to 
one  side  and  then  to  the  other.  At  last 
there  occurred  a  curve  in  the  line  of  ice, 
and  reaching  this  the  horse  turned  once 
more  to  avoid  it.  In  doing  so,  the  sleigh 
was  swung  toward  the  water.  The  shafts 
broke.  The  harness  was  torn  asunder. 
The  off-runner  of  the  sleigh  slid  from  the 
ice — it  tilted  over ;  the  driver  jerked  at  the 
reins  and  made  a  wild  leap.  In  vain.  His 
feet  were  entangled  in  the  fur  robes  which 
dragged  him  back.  A  shriek,  louder,  wild- 
er, and  far  more  fearful  than  before,  rang 


out  through  the  storm ;  and  the  next  in- 
stant  down  went  the  sleigh  with  its  occu- 
pants into  the  water,  the  driver  falling  out, 
while  the  horse,  though  free  from  the  sleigh, 
was  yet  jerked  aside  by  the  reins,  and  be- 
fore he  eouM  recover  himself  fell  with  the 
rest  into  the  icy  stream. 

All  this  seemed  to  have  taken  place  in 
an  instant.  I  hurried  on,  with  all  my 
thoughts  on  this  lady  who  was  thus  doomed 
to  so  sudden  and  so  terrible  a  fate.  I  could 
see  the  sleigh  floating  for  a  time,  and  the 
head  of  the  horse,  that  was  swimming.  I 
sprang  to  a  place  which  seemed  to  give  a 
chance  of  assisting  them,  and  looked  eag- 
erly to  see  what  had  become  of  the  lady. 
The  sleigh-  drifted  steadily  along.  It  was 
one  of  that  box-shaped  kind  called  pnuys, 
which  arc  sometimes  made  so  tight  that 
they  can  resist  the  action  of  water,  and 
float  either  in  crossing  a  swollen  stream,  or 
in  case  of  breaking  through  the  ice.  Such 
boat-like  sleighs  are  not  uncommon ;  and 
this  one  was  quite  buoyant.  I  could  see 
nothing  of  the  driver.  He  had  probably 
sunk  at  once,  or  had  been  drawn  under  the 
ice.  The  horse,  entangled  in  the  shafts, 
had  regained  the  ice,  and  had  raised  one 
foreleg  to  its  surface,  witl  which  he  was 
making  furious  struggles  to  emerge  from 
the  water,  while  snorts  of  terror  escaped 
him.  But  where  was  the  lady?  I  hur- 
ried farther  up,  and,  as  I  approached,  I 
could  see  something  crouched  in  a  heap 
at  the  bottom  of  the  floating  sleigh.  Was 
it  she — or  was  it  only  the  heap  of  buffalo- 
robes  ?    I  could  not  tell. 

The  sleigh  drifted  on,  and  soon  I  came 
near  enough  to  see  that  the  bundle  had  life. 
I  came  close  to  where  it  floated.  It  was 
not  more  that  six  yards  off,  and  was  drift- 
ing steadily  nearer.  I  walked  on  by  the 
edge  of  the  ice,  and  shouted.  There  was 
no  answer.     At  length  I  saw  a.  white  hand 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


I: 


:, 


I 


eluteliiiig  the  side  of  the  sleigh.  A  thrill 
of  exultant  hope  passed  through  nie.  I 
shouted  again  and  again,  but  my  voice  was 
lost  in  the  roar  of  the  crashing  ice  and  the 
howling  gale.  Yet,  though  my  voice  had 
not  been  heard,  I  was  free  from  suspense, 
for  I  saw  that  the  lady  thus  fiir  was  safe, 
and  I  could  wait  a  little  longer  for  the 
chance  of  aflfording  her  as^'<tance.  I 
walked  on,  then,  in  silofacc,  watching  the 
sleigh  which  continued  to  float.  Vi'e  trav- 
elled thus  a  long  distance — I,  and  the  wom- 
an who  had  thus  been  so  strangely  wrecked 
in  so  strange  a  bark.  Looking  back,  I 
could  no  longer  see  any  signs  of  the  horse. 
All  this  time  the  sleigh  was  gradually  drift- 
ed nearer  the  edge  of  the  ice  on  which  I 
walked,  until  at  last  it  came  so  near  that 
I  reached  out  my  stick,  and,  catching  it 
with  the  crooked  handle,  drew  it  toward 
me.  The  shock,  as  the  sleigh  struck 
against  the  ice,  roused  its  occupant.  She 
started  up,  stood  upright,  stared  for  a  mo- 
ment at  me,  and  then  at  the  scene  around. 
Then  she  sprang  out,  and,  clasping  her 
hands,  fell  upon  her  knees,  and  seemed  to 
mutter  woi-ds  of  prayer.  Then  she  rose  to 
her  feet,  and  looked  around  with  a  face  of 
horror.  There  was  such  an  anguish  of  fear 
in  her  face,  that  I  tried  to  comfort  her. 
But  my  efforts  were  useless. 

"  Oh !  there  is  no  hope !  The  river 
is  breaking  up  !  "  she  moaned.  "  They 
told  me  it  would.  How  mad  I  was  to  try 
to  cross!" 

Finding  that  I  could  do  nothing  to  quell 
her  fears,  I  began  to  think  what  was  best  to 
be  done.  First  of  all,  I  determined  to  se- 
cure the  sleigh.  It  might  be  the  means  of 
saving  us,  or,  if  not,  it  w  ould  at  any  rate  do 
for  a  place  of  rest.  It  was  better  than  the 
wet  ice  for  the  lady.  So  I  proceeded  to  pull 
it  on  the  ice.  The  lady  tried  to  help  me, 
and,  after  a   desperate    effort,  the   heavy 


pung  was  dragged  from  the  water  upon  the 
frozen  surface.  I  then  made  her  sit  in 
it,  and  wrapped  the  furs  around  her  as  well 
as  I  could. 

She  submitted  without  a  word.  Iler 
white  face  was  turned  toward  mine ;  and 
once  or  twice  she  threw  upon  me,  from  her 
dark,  expressive  eyes,  a  look  of  speechless 
gratitude.  I  tried  to  promise  safety,  and 
encouraged  her  as  well  as  I  could,  and  she 
seemed  to  make  an  effort  to  regain  her  self- 
control. 

In  spite  of  my  efforts  at  consolation,  her 
despair  affected  me.  I  looked  all  around 
to  see  what  the  chances  of  escape  might 
be.  As  I  took  that  survey,  I  perceived 
that  those  chances  were  indeed  small.  The 
first  thing  that  struck  me  was,  that  Cape 
Diamond  was  for  behind  the  point  where  I 
at  present  stood.  While  the  sleigh  had 
drifted,  and  I  had  walked  beside  it,  our 
progress  had  been  dov  n  the  river ;  and 
since  then  the  ice,  which  itself  had  all  this 
time  been  drifting,  had  borne  us  on  without 
ceasing.  We  were  still  drifting  at  the  very 
moment  that  I  looked  around.  We  had  also 
moved  farther  away  from  the  shore  which  I 
wished  to  reach,  and  nearer  to  the  Quebec 
side.  When  the  sleigh  had  first  gone  over, 
there  had  not  been  more  than  twenty  yards 
between  the  ice  and  the  shore;  but  now 
that  shore  was  ful  two  hundred  yards 
away.  All  this  time  the  fury  of  the  wind, 
and  the  torment  of  the  blinding,  stinging 
sleet,  had  not  in  the  least  abated  ;  the  grind- 
ing and  roaring  of  the  ice  had  increased ; 
the  long  ridge  had  heaped  itself  up  to  a 
greater  height,  and  opposite  us  it  towered 
up  in  formidable  masses. 

I  thought  at  one  time  of  intrusting  my- 
self with  my  companion  to  the  sleigh,  in 
the  hope  of  using  it  as  a  boat  to  gain  the 
shore.  But  I  could  not  believe  that  it 
would  float  with  both  of  us,  and,  if  it 


.i>,» «««>-;• 


CROSSING  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE. 


23 


iter  upon  the 
i  lior  sit  in 
J  her  as  well 

word.  Iler 
mine ;  and 
ne,  from  her 
f  speechless 
!  safet}-,  and 
uld,  and  she 
;ain  her  sclf- 

solatlon,  her 
I  all  around 
icape  might 
I   perceived 
small.    The 
i,  that  Cape 
oint  where  I 
sleigh  had 
side  it,  our 
river ;    and 
had  all  this 
i  on  without 
at  the  very 
IVe  liad  also 
ore  which  I 
the  Quebec 
t  gone  over, 
vcnty  )ard3 
3;  but  now 
Ircd    yards 
if  the  wind, 
Jg,  stinging 
;  the  grind- 
increased  ; 
;lf  up  to  a 
it  towered 

usting  my- 
e  sleigh,  in 
to  gain  the 
ve  that  it 
and,  if  it 


would,  there  wore  no  means  of  moving  or 
guiding  it.  Better  to  remain  on  the  ice 
than  to  attempt  that.  Such  a  refuge  w  ould 
only  do  as  a  last  resort.  After  giving  up 
this  idea,  I  watched  to  see  if  there  was  any 
chance  of  drifting  back  to  the  shore,  but 
soon  saw  that  there  was  none.  Every  mo- 
ment drew  us  farther  off.  Then  I  thought 
of  a  score  of  desperate  undertakings,  but 
all  of  them  were  given  up  almost  as  soon 
as  they  suggested  themselves. 

All  this  time  the  lady  had  sat  in  silence 
— deathly  pale,  looking  around  with  that 
same  anguish  of  fear  which  I  had  noticed 
from  the  first,  like  one  who  awaits  an  in- 
evitable doom.  The  storm  beat  about  her 
pitilessly ;  occasional  shudders  passed 
through  her ;  and  the  dread  scene  around 
affected  mo  far  less  than  those  eyes  of 
agnny,  that  pallid  face,  and  those  tremu- 
lous white  lips  that  seemed  to  murmur 
prayers.  She  saw,  as  well  as  I,  the  widen- 
ing sheet  of  water  between  us  and  the 
shore  on  the  one  side,  and  on  the  other 
the  ever-increasing  masses  of  crumbling  ice. 

At  last  I  suddenly  offered  to  go  to  Que- 
bec, and  bring  back  help  for  her.  So  wild 
a  proposal  was  in  the  highest  degree  im- 
practicable ;  but  I  thought  that  it  might 
lead  her  to  suggest  something.  As  soon 
as  she  heard  it,  she  evinced  fresh  terror. 

"  Oh,  sir  !  "  she  moaned,  "  if  you  have 
a  human  heart,  do  not  leave  me !  For 
God's  sake,  stay  a  little  longer." 

"  Leave  you  !  "  I  cried  ;  "  never  while  I 
have  breath.  I  will  sta)  with  you  to  the 
last." 

But  this,  instead  of  reassuring  her,  mere- 
ly had  the  effect  of  changing  her  feelings. 
She  grew  calmer. 

"  No,"  said  she,  "  you  must  not.  I  was 
mad  with  fear.  No — go.  You  at  least  can 
save  yourself.    Go — Hy — leave  me  !  " 

"  Never !  "  I  repeated,      "  I  only  made 


that  proposal — not  thinking  to  save  j'ou, 
but  merely  supposing  that  you  would  feel 
better  at  the  simple  suggestion  of  some- 
thing." 

"  I  implore  you,"  she  reiterated.  "  Go 
— there  is  yet  time.  You  only  risk  your 
life  by  delay.  Don't  waste  your  time  on 
me." 

"  I  could  not  go  if  I  would,"  I  said, 
"  and  I  swea  I  would  not  go  if  I  could," 
I  cried,  impetuously.  "  I  hope  you  do  not 
take  me  for  any  thing  else  than  a  gentle- 
man." 

"  Oh,  sir,  pardon  me.  Can  you  think 
tho,t  ? — But  you  have  already  risked  your 
life  once  by  waiting  to  save  mine — and,  oh, 
do  not  risk  it  by  waiting  again." 

"  Madame,"  said  I,  "  you  must  not  only 
not  say  such  a  thing,  but  you  must  not 
even  think  it.  I  am  hero  with  you,  and, 
being  a  gentleman,  I  am  here  by  your  side 
either  for  life  or  death.  But  come — rouse 
yourself.  Don't  give  up.  I'll  save  you,  or 
die  with  you.  At  the  same  time,  let  mo 
assure  you  that  I  haven't  the  remotest 
idea  of  dying." 

She  threw  at  me,  from  her  eloquent 
eyes,  a  look  of  unutterable  gratitude,  and 
said  not  a  word. 

I  looked  at  my  watch.  It  was  throe 
o'clock.  There  was  no  time  to  lose.  The 
day  was  passing  swiftly,  and  at  this  rate 
evening  would  come  on  before  one  might 
be  aware.  The  thought  of  standing  idle 
any  longer,  while  the  precious  hours  were 
passing,  was  intolerable.  Once  more  I 
made  a  hasty  survey,  and  now,  pressed  and 
stimtdated  by  the  dire  exigencies  of  the 
hour,  I  determined  to  make  an  effort  tow- 
ard the  Queb  j  side.  On  that  side,  it 
seemed  as  though  the  ice  which  drifted 
from  the  other  shore  was  being  packed  in 
an  unbroken  mass.  If  so,  a  way  over  it 
might  be  found  to  a  resolute  spirit. 


II 


24 


THE  LADY  OF  TUE  ICE. 


! 


I  hastily  told  my  companion  my  plan. 
She  listened  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  I  will  do  all  that  I  can,"  said  she,  and 
I  saw  with  delight  that  the  mere  prospect 
of  doing  something  had  aroused  her. 

My  first  act  was  to  push  the  sleigh  with 
its  occupant  toward  the  ice-ridge  in  the 
centre  of  the  river.  The  lady  strongly  oh- 
jectc<l,  and  insisted  on  getting  out  and 
helping  me.  This  I  positively  forbade.  I 
assured  her  that  my  strength  was  quite 
sufficient  for  the  undertaking,  but  that 
hers  was  not ;  and  if  she  would  save  her- 
self, and  me,  too,  she  must  husband  all  her 
resources  and  obey  implicitly.  She  sub- 
mitted under  protest,  and,  as  I  pushed  her 
along,  she  murmured  the  most  touching 
expressions  of  sympathy  and  of  gratitude. 
But  pushing  a.  sleigh  over  the  smooth  ice 
is  no  very  difficult  work,  and  the  load  that 
it  contained  did  not  increase  the  labor  in 
my  estimation.  Thus  we  soon  approached 
that  long  ice-ridge  which  I  have  so  fre- 
quently mentioned.  Here  I  stopped,  and 
began  to  seek  a  place  which  might  afford 
a  chance  for  crossing  to  the  ice-field  on  the 
opposite  cide. 

The  huge  ice-blocks  gathered  here,  where 
the  fields  on  either  side  were  forced  against 
one  another,  grinding  and  breaking  up. 
Each  piece  was  forced  up,  and,  as  the  grind- 
ing process  continued,  the  heap  rose  higher. 
At  times,  the  loftiest  parts  of  the  ridge  top- 
pled over  with  a  tremendous  crash,  while 
many  other  piles  seemed  about  to  do  the 
same.  To  attempt  to  pass  that  ridge  would 
be  to  encounter  the  greatest  peril.  In  the 
first  place,  it  would  be  to  invite  an  ava- 
lanche ;  and  then,  again,  wherever  the  piles 
fell,  the  force  of  that  fall  broke  the  field-ice 
below,  and  the  water  rushed  up,  makiug  a 
passage  through  it  quite  as  hazardous  as 
the  former.  For  a  long  time  I  examined 
without  seeing  any  place  which  was  at  all 


practicable.  There  was  no  time,  however, 
to  be  discouraged ;  an  effort  had  to  bo 
made,  and  that  without  delay ;  so  I  deter- 
mined to  try  for  myself,  and  test  one  or 
more  places.  One  place  appeared  'ess  dan- 
gerous than  others — a  place  where  a  pile  of 
uncommon  size  had  recently  fallen.  The 
blocks  were  of  unusual  size,  and  were  raised 
up  but  a  little  above  tlie  level  of  the  ice  on 
which  I  stood.  These  blocks,  though  sway- 
ing slowly  up  and  down,  seemed  yet  to  he 
strong  enough  for  my  purpose.  I  sprang 
toward  the  place,  and  found  it  practicable. 
Then  I  returned  to  the  lady.  She  was  eager 
to  go.  Here  we  had  to  give  up  the  sleigh, 
since  to  transport  that  also  was  not  to  be 
thought  of. 

"  Now,"  said  I,  "  is  the  time  for  you  to 
exert  all  your  strength." 

"  I  am  ready,"  said  she. 

»  Hurry,  then." 

At  that  moment  there  burst  a  thunder- 
shock.  A  huge  pile  farther  down  had  fall- 
en,  and  bore  down  the  surface-ice.  The 
water  rushed  boiling  and  seething  upward, 
and  spread  far  over.  There  was  not  a  mo- 
ment to  lose.  It  was  now  or  never ;  so, 
snatching  her  hand,  I  rushed  forward.  The 
water  was  up  to  my  knees,  and  sweeping 
past  and  whirling  back  with  a  furious  im- 
petuosity. Through  that  flood  I  dragged 
her,  and  she  followed  bravely  and  quickly, 
I  pulled  her  up  to  the  first  block,  then 
onward  to  another.  Leaping  over  a  third, 
I  had  to  relinquish  her  hand  for  a  moment, 
and  then,  extending  mine  once  more,  I 
caught  hers,  and  she  sprang  after  me.  All 
these  blocks  were  firm,  and  our  weight  did 
not  move  their  massive  forms.  One  huge 
piece  formed  the  last  stage  in  our  hazard- 
ous path.  It  overlapped  the  ice  on  the 
opposite  side.  I  spriing  down,  and  the 
next  instant  the  lady  was  by  my  side. 
Thank  Heaven  !  we  were  over. 


im'^^t^^lMJMg^iaaKMM 


CROSSING  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE. 


25 


9 


Onward  then  wo  hurried  for  our  lives, 
seeking  to  get  as  far  as  possihio  from  that 
dangerous  channel  of  icc-avalanchcs  and 
seething  waters  ;  and  it  was  not  till  a  safe 
distance  intervened,  that  I  dared  to  slacken 
my  pace  so  as  to  allow  my  companion  to 
take  breath.  All  this  time  she  had  not 
spoken  a  word,  and  had  shown  a  calmness 
and  an  energy  which  contrasted  strongly 
with  her  previous  lethargy  and  terror. 

I  saw  that  the  ice  in  this  place  was 
rougher  than  it  had  been  on  the  other  side. 
Lumps  were  upheaved  in  many  places. 
This  was  a  good  sign,  for  it  indicated  a 
close  packing  in  this  direction,  and  less 
danger  of  open  water,  which  was  the  only 
thing  now  to  be  feared.  The  hope  of  reach- 
ing the  shore  was  now  strong  within  mc. 
That  shore,  I  could  perceive,  must  be  some 
distance  below  Quebec ;  but  how  far  I  could 
not  tell.  I  could  sec  the  dark  outline  of 
the  land,  but  Quebec  was  now  no  longer 
perceptible  through  the  thick  storm  of 
sleet. 

For  a  long  time,  my  companion  held  out 
nobly,  and  sustained  the  rapid  progress 
which  I  was  trying  to  keep  up;  but,  at 
length,  she  began  to  show  evident  signs  of 
exhaustion.  I  saw  this  with  pain,  for  I  was 
fearful  every  moment  of  some  new  circum- 
stance which  might  call  for  fresh  exertion 
from  both  of  us.  I  would  have  given  any 
thing  to  have  had  the  sleigh  which  wo 
were  forced  to  relinquish.  I  feared  that 
her  strength  would  fail  at  the  trying  mo- 
ment. The  distance  before  us  was  yet  so 
great  that  we  seemed  to  have  traversed  but 
little.  I  insisted  on  her  taking  my  arm  and 
leaning  on  me  for  support,  and  tried  to 
cheer  her  by  making  her  look  back  and 
sec  how  far  we  had  gone.  She  tried  to 
smile  ;  but  the  smile  was  a  failure.  In  her 
weakness,  she  began  to  feel  more  sensibly 
the  storm  from  which  she  had  been  shel- 


tered to  some  extent  before  she  left  the 
sleigh.  She  cowered  under  the  tierce  pelt 
of  the  pitiless  sleet,  and  clung  to  me, 
trembling  and  shivering  with  cold. 

On  and  on  wo  walked.  The  distance 
seemed  interminable.  The  lady  kept  up 
well,  considering  her  increasing  exhaustion, 
saying  nothing  whatever;  but  her  quick, 
short  breathing  was  audil)le,  as  she  panted 
with  fatigue.  I  felt  every  shudder  that  ran 
through  her  delicate  frame.  And  yet  I  did 
not  dare  to  stop  and  give  her  rest ;  for, 
aside  from  the  imminent  danger  of  losing 
our  hope  of  reaching  land,  a  delay,  even  to 
take  breath,  would  only  expose  her  the 
more  surely  to  the  efTect  of  the  cold.  At 
last,  I  stopped  for  a  moment,  and  drew  off 
my  overcoat.  This,  in  spite  of  her  protes- 
tations, I  forced  her  to  put  on.  f>he  threat- 
ened, at  one  time,  to  sit  down  on  the  ice  and 
die,  rather  than  do  it. 

"  Very  well,  madame,"  said  I.  "  Then, 
out  of  a  punctilio,  you  will  destroy,  not 
only  yourself,  but  mo.  Do  I  deserve 
this  ?  " 

At  this,  tears  started  to  her  eyes.  She 
submitted. 

"  Oh,  sir,"  she  murmured,  "  what  can  I 
say  ?  It's  for  your  sake  that  I  rcf-ise.  I 
will  submit.  God  bless  you — who  sent 
you  to  my  help !    God  forever  bless  you  ! " 

I  said  nothing. 

On  and  on ! 

Then  her  steps  grew  feebler — then  her 
weight  rested  on  me  more  heavily. 

On  and  on ! 

She  staggered,  and  low  moans  succeeded 
to  her  heavy  panting.  At  last,  with  a  cry 
of  despair,  she  fell  forward. 

I  caught  her  in  my  arms,  and  held  her 
up. 

"  Leave  mo  !  "  she  said,  in  a  faint  voice. 
"  I  cannot  walk  any  farther." 

"  No  ;  I  will  wait  for  a  vaile." 


2G 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


■    < 


!        i 


"  Oh,  leave  me !  Pavo  yourself!  Or  go 
ashore,  and  bring  help ! " 

*'  No ;  I  will  go  ashore  with  you,  or  not 
at  all." 

She  sighed,  and  clung  to  mc 

After  a  time,  she  revived  a  little,  and  in- 
sisted on  going  onward.  This  time  she 
walked  for  some  distance.  She  did  this 
with  a  stolid,  heavy  step,  and  mechani- 
cally, like  an  automaton  moved  by  machin- 
ery.    Then  she  stopped  aj^ain. 

"  I  am  dizE}-,"  said  she,  faintly. 

I  made  her  sit  down  on  the  ice,  and  put 
myself  between  her  and  the  wind.  That 
rest  did  much  for  her:  But  I  was  afraid  to 
let  her  sit  more  than  five  minutes.  Her 
feet  were  saturated,  and,  in  spite  of  my 
overcoat,  she  was  still  shivering. 

"  Come,"  said  I ;  "if  we  stay  any  longer, 
you  will  die." 

She  staggered  up.  She  clung  to  me,  and 
I  dragged  hor  on.   Then,  again,  she  stopped. 

I  now  tried  a  last  resort,  and  gave  her 
some  brandy  from  my  flask.  I  had  tliought 
of  it  often,  but  did  not  wish  to  give  this 
until  other  things  were  exhausted  ;  for, 
though  the  stimulus  is  an  immediate  rem- 
edy for  weakness,  yet  on  the  ice  and  in 
the  snow  the  reaction  is  dangerous  to  the 
last  degree.  The  draugut  revived  her  won- 
derfully. 

Starting  once  more,  with  new  life,  she 
was  able  to  traverse  a  very  great  distance  ; 
and  at  length,  to  my  delight,  the  shore  be- 
gan to  appear  very  near.  But  now  the  re- 
action from  the  stimulant  appeared.  She 
sank  down  without  a  word  ;  and  another 
draught,  and  yet  another,  was  needed  to 
infuse  some  false  strength  into  her.  At 
length,  the  shore  seemed  close  by  us. 
Here  she  gave  out  utterly. 

"  I  can  go  no  farther,"  she  moaned,  as 
she  fell  straight  down  heavily  and  suddenly 
on  the  ice. 


"  Only  one  more  effort,"  I  said,  implor- 
ingly.    "  Take  some  more  brandy." 

"  It  is  of  no  use.  Leave  me !  Get 
help ! " 

"  See — the  shore  is  near.  It  is  not  more 
than  a  few  rods  away." 

"  I  cannot." 

I  supported  her  in  my  arms,  for  she  was 
leaning  on  her  hand,  and  slowly  sinking 
downward.  Once  more  I  pressed  the  bran- 
dy upon  her  lips,  as  her  head  lay  on  my 
shoulder.  Her  eyes  were  closed.  Down 
on  her  marble  face  the  wild  storm  beat 
savagely ;  her  lips  were  bloodless,  and  her 
teeth  were  fixed  convulsively.  It  was  only 
by  an  effort  that  I  could  force  the  brandy 
into  her  mouth.  Once  more,  and  for  the 
last  time,  the  fiery  liquid  gave  her  a  mo- 
mentary strength.  She  roused  herself  from 
the  stupor  into  which  she  was  sinking,  and, 
springing  to  her  feet  with  a  wild,  spasmodic 
effort,  she  ran  with  outstretched  hands  tow- 
ard the  shore.  For  about  twenty  or  thirty 
paces  she  ran,  and,  before  I  could  overtake 
her,  she  fell  once  more. 

I  raised  her  up,  and  again  supported 
her.  She  could  move  no  fiirthcr.  I  sat  by 
her  side  for  a  little  while,  and  looked  tow- 
ard the  shore.  It  was  close  by  us  now ; 
but,  as  I  looked,  I  saw  a  sight  which  made 
any  further  delay  impossible. 

Directly  in  front,  and  only  a  few  feet 
away,  was  a  dark  chasm  lying  between  us 
and  that  shore  for  which  wc  had  been 
striving  so  earnestly.  It  was  a  fathom 
wide;  and  there  -flowed  the  dark  waters 
of  the  river,  gloomily,  warningly,  mena- 
cingly !  To  me,  that  chasm  was  nothing ; 
but  how  could  she  cross  it?  Besides, 
there  was  no  doubt  that  it  was  widening 
every  moment. 

I  started  up. 

"  Wait  here  for  a  moment,"  said  I,  hur. 
riedly. 


a- 


.T^«..V-*«-v* 


I 


m 


I 


"PAS  UN  MOT,  MONSIEUR." 


27 


I  luft  her  half  reclining  on  the  ice,  and 
i-an  hastily  up  and  down  the  chasm.  I 
could  SCO  that  my  fears  were  true.  The 
whole  body  of  ice  was  beginning  to  break 
away,  and  drift  from  tliis  shore  also,  as  it 
had  done  from  tlie  other.  I  saw  a  place 
not  more  than  five  feet  wide.  Back  I 
rushed  to  my  companion.  I  seized  her, 
and,  lifting  her  in  my  arms,  without  a  word, 
I  carried  her  to  that  place  where  the  chan- 
nel was  narrowest ;  and  then,  without  stop- 
ping to  consider,  but  impelled  by  the  one 
fierce  de:iire  for  safety,  I  leaped  forward, 
and  my  feet  touched  the  opposite  side. 

With  a  horrible  crash,  the  ice  broke  be- 
neath me,  and  I  went  down.  That  sound, 
and  the  awful  sensation  of  sinking,  I  shall 
never  forget.  But  the  cake  of  ice  which 
had  given  way  beneath  my  feet,  though  it 
went  down  under  me,  still  prevented  my 
sinking  rapidly.  I  flung  myself  forward, 
and  held  up  my  almost  senseless  burden  as 
I  best  could  with  one  arm,  while  with  the 
other  I  dug  my  sharp-pointed  stick  into 
the  ice  and  held  on  for  a  moment.  Then, 
summoning  up  my  strength,  I  passed  my 
left  arm  under  my  companion,  and  raised 
her  out  of  the  water  upon  the  ice.  My  feet 
seemed  sucked  by  the  water  underneath  the 
shelf  of  ice  against  which  I  rested ;  but 
the  iron-pointed  stick  never  slipped,  and  I 
succeeded.  Then,  with  a  spring,  I  raised 
myself  up  from  the  water,  and  clambered 
out. 

My  companion  had  struggled  up  to  her 
knees,  and  grasped  me  feebly,  as  though  to 
assist  me.  Then  she  started  to  her  feet. 
The  horror  of  sudden  death  had  done  this, 
and  had  given  her  a  convulsive  energy  of 
recoil  from  a  hideous  fate.  Thus  she 
sprang  forward,  and  ran  for  some  distance. 
I  hastened  after  her,  and,  seizing  her  arm, 
drew  it  in  mine.  But  at  that  moment  her 
short-lived  strength  failed  her,  and  she  sank 


once  more.  I  looked  all  around — the  shore 
was  only  a  few  yards  off.  A  short  distance 
away  was  a  high,  cone-shaped  mass  of  ice, 
whose  white  sheen  was  distinct  amid  the 
gloom.    I  recognized  it  at  once. 

"  Courage,  courage  !  "  I  cried.  "  We  are 
at  Montmorency.  There  is  a  house  not  fur 
away.    Only  one  more  effort." 

She  raised  her  head  feebly. 

"  Do  you  see  it  ?  Montmorency !  the  ice- 
cone  of  the  Falls !  "  I  cried,  eagerly. 

Iler  head  sank  back  again. 

"  Look !  look !  We  are  saved !  we  ara 
near  houses!" 

The  only  answer  was  a  moan.  Sho  sank 
down  lower.  I  grasped  her  so  as  to  sustain 
her,  and  she  lay  senseless  in  my  arms. 

There  was  now  no  more  hope  of  any 
further  exertion  from  her.  Strength  and 
sense  had  deserted  her.  There  was  only 
one  tiling  to  be  done. 

I  took  her  in  my  arms,  and  carried  her 
toward  the  shore.  How  I  clambered  up 
that  steep  bank,  I  do  not  remember.  At 
any  rate,  I  succeeded  in  reaching  the  top, 
and  sank  exhausted  there,  holding  my  bur- 
den under  the  dark,  sighing  evergreens. 

Rising  once  more,  I  raised  her  uj),  and 
made  my  way  to  a  house.  The  inmates 
were  kind,  and  full  of  sympathy.  I  com- 
mitted the  lady  to  their  care,  and  fell  cs- 
hauste"d  on  a  settee  in  front  of  the  huge 
fireplace. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

I  FLY  BACK,  AND  SEND  THE  DOCTOn  TO  THE 
RESCUE. — RETURN  TO  THE  SPOT. — FLIGHT 
OP  THE  BIRD. — rERPLEXITY,  ASTONISHMENT, 
WONDER,  AND  DESPAIR. — "  PAS  UN"  MOT, 
MONSIEUR !  " 

A  LONG  time  passed,  and  I  waited  in 
great  anxiety.    Meanwhile,  I  had  changed 


M 


it 


28 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


If 


I  ! 


,  ( 


my  clothes,  and  snt  by  the  flro  robed  in  the 
pieturesciue  costuiuo  of  a  French  habitant, 
while  my  own  saturated  garments  were  dry- 
ing elsewhere.  I  tried  to  (ind  out  if  there 
was  a  doctor  anywhere  in  the  neighbor- 
hoou,  but  learned  that  there  was  none 
nearer  than  Quebec.  The  people  were  such 
dolts,  that  I  determined  to  set  out  myself 
for  the  cit}',  and  cither  send  a  doctor  or 
fetch  one.  After  immense  trouble,  I  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  a  horse ;  and,  just  bo- 
fore  starting,  I  was  encouraged  by  hearing 
that  the  lady  had  recovered  from  her 
swoon,  and  was  much  better,  though  some- 
what feverish. 

It  was  a  wild  journey. 

The  Btorm  was  still  raging;  the  road 
was  abominable,  and  was  all  one  glare  of 
frozen  sleet,  which  had  covered  it  with  a 
slippery  surface,  except  where  there  arose 
disintegrated  ice-hummocks  and  heaps  of 
slush — the  dibris  of  giant  drifts.  More- 
over, it  was  as  dark  as  Egjrpt.  My  prog- 
ress, therefore,  was  slow.  A  boy  went 
with  me  as  far  as  the  main  road,  and,  after 
seeing  me  under  way,  he  left  me  to  my  own 
devices.  The  horse  was  very  aged,  and,  I 
fear,  a  little  rheumatic.  Resides,  I  have 
reason  to  believe  that  he  was  blind.  That 
did  not  make  any  particular  difference, 
though;  for  the  darkness  was  so  intense, 
that  eyes  were  as  useless  as  they  would  be 
to  the  eyeless  fishes  of  the  Mammoth  Cave. 
I  don't  intend  to  prolong  my  description 
of  this  midnight  ride.  Sufliee  it  to  say 
that  the  horse  walked  all  the  way,  and, 
although  it  was  midnight  when  I  started, 
it  was  near  morning  when  I  reached  my 
quarters. 

I  hurried  at  once  to  the  doctor,  and,  to 
his  intense  disgust,  roused  him  and  im- 
plored his  services.  I  made  it  a  personal 
matter,  and  put  it  in  such  an  affecting  light, 
that  he  consented  to  go;  but  he  assured 


me  that  it  was  the  greatest  sacrifice  to 
friendship  that  he  had  ever  made  in  his 
life.  I  gave  him  the  most  explicit  direc- 
tions, and  did  not  leave  him  till  I  saw  him 
on  hor.^ebaek,  and  trotting,  half  asleep, 
down  the  street. 

Then  I  went  to  my  room,  completely  used 
up  after  such  unparalleled  exertions.  I  got 
a  roaring  fire  made,  established  myself  on 
my  sofa  immediately  in  front  of  it,  and 
sought  to  restore  my  exhausted  frame  by 
hot  potations.  My  intention  was  to  rest 
for  a  while,  til'  I  felt  thoroughly  warmed, 
and  then  start  lor  Montmorency  to  see  about 
the  lady.  With  this  in  my  mind,  aUv.  a  pipe 
in  my  mouth,  and  a  tumbler  of  toddy  at  my 
elbow,  I  reclined  on  my  deep,  soft,  old- 
fashioned,  and  luxurious  sofa;  and,  thus 
situated,  I  fell  off  before  I  knew  it  into  an 
exceedingly  profound  sleep. 

When  I  awoke,  it  was  broad  day.  I 
started  up,  looked  at  my  watch,  and,  to 
my  horror,  found  that  it  was  half-past  twelve. 
In  a  short  time,  I  had  flung  off  my  hahitant 
clothes,  dressed  myself,  got  my  own  horse, 
and  galloped  off  as  fast  as  possible. 

I  was  deeply  vexed  at  myself  for  sleeping 
so  long ;  but  I  found  comfort  in  the  thought 
that  the  doctor  had  gone  on  before.  The 
storm  had  gone  down,  and  the  sky  was 
clear.  The  sun  was  shining  brightly.  The 
roads  were  abominable,  but  not  so  bad  as 
they  had  been,  and  my  progress  was  rapid. 
So  I  went  on  at  a  rattling  pace,  not  spar- 
ing my  horse,  and  occupying  my  mind  with 
thoughts  of  the  lady  whom  I  had  saved, 
when  suddenly,  about  three  miles  from 
Quebec,  I  saw  a  familiar  figure  advancing 
toward  me. 

It  was  the  doctor ! 

lie  moved  along  slowly,  and,  as  I  drew 
nearer,  I  saw  that  he  looked  very  much 
worn  out,  very  peevish,  and  very  discon- 
tented. 


4 


t  >i 


,jf^:*?iu  :.rf-»"«-V 


-acriflce  to 
'||'"lo  in  his 
xplicit  (lircc- 
II  r  saw  Iiitn 
liiilf  asleep, 

plctclyused 
ions.     I  got 
1  myself  on 
of  it,  and 
1  frame  by 
was  to  rest 
lily  warmed, 
to  sec  about 
1,  an,,  a  pipe 
toddy  at  my 
),  Boft,  old- 
;   and,  thus 
w  it  into  an 

ad  day.  I 
ch,  and,  to 
Ipast  twelve, 
my  habitant 
o\ra  horse, 
ible. 

for  sleeping 
the  thought 
efore.  The 
e  sky  was 
?htly.  The 
so  bad  as 
was  rapid, 
J,  not  spar- 
mind  with 
had  saved, 
niles  from 
advancing 


as  I  dre^v 
f^ery  much 
ry  discon- 


"PA8  UN  MOT,  MONSIEUR." 


m 


"  Well,  old  man,"  said  I,  "  how  did  you 
find  her  V  " 

"Find  her?"  growled  the  doctor—"! 
didn't  find  her  at  all.  If  this  is  a  lioax," 
he  continued,  "  all  I  can  say,  Macroric,  is 
this,  that  it's  a  devilish  sttijiid  one." 

"  A  hoax  ?  What— didn't  find  her  ?  "  I 
gasped. 

"  Find  her  ?  Of  course  not.  Thore's 
no  such  a  person.  Why,  I  could  not  even 
find  the  house." 

"  What — do  you  mean  ?  I — I  don't  un- 
derstand— "  I  faltere  .. 

"  Why,"  said  the  doctor,  who  saw  my 
deep  distress  and  diHappitiutmcnt,  "I  mean 
simply  this  :  I've  been  riding  about  this  in- 
fernal country  all  day,  been  to  Montmoren- 
cy, called  at  fifty  houses,  and  couldn't  find 
anybody  that  knew  any  thing  at  all  about 
any  lady  whatever." 

At  this,  my  consternation  was  so  groat 
that  I  couldn't  say  one  single  word.  This 
news  almost  took  my  breath  awaj'.  The 
doctor  looked  sternly  at  me  for  some  time, 
and  then  was  about  to  move  on. 

This  roused  mo. 

"What!"  I  cried;  "you're  not  think- 
ing of  going  back  ?  " 

"  Back  ?  Of  course,  I  am.  That's  the 
very  thing  I'm  going  to  do." 

"  For  God's  sake,  doctor,"  I  cried,  earn- 
estly, "  don't  go  just  yet !  I  tell  you,  the 
lady  is  there,  and  her  condition  is  a  most 
perilous  one.  I  told  you  before  how  I 
saved  her.  I  left  there  at  midnight,  last 
night,  in  spite  of  my  fatigue,  and  travelled 
all  night  to  get  you.  I  promised  her  that 
you  would  be  there  early  this  morning.  It's 
now  nearly  two  in  the  afternoon.  Good 
Heavens  !  doctor,  you  won't  leave  a  fellow 
in  such  a  fix  ?  " 

"  Macrorie,"  said  the  doctor,  "  I'm  half 
dead  with  fatigue.  I  did  it  for  your  sake, 
and  I  wouldn't  have  done  it  for  another 


29 

So 


soul — no,  not  even  for  Jack  Randolph 
bo  considerate,  my  boy." 

"  Doctor,"  I  cried,  earnestly,  "  it's  a  caio 
of  life  and  death ! " 

A  long  altercation  now  followed ;  but  the 
end  of  it  was  that,  the  doctor  yielded,  and, 
in  spite  of  his  fatigue,  turned  back,  grum- 
bling and  growling. 

So  wo  rode  buck  together — the  doctor, 
groaning  and  making  peevish  remarks ;  I, 
oblivious  of  all  this,  and  careless  of  my 
friend's  discomfort.  My  mind  was  full  of 
visions  of  the  ladj- — the  fair  unknown.  I 
was  exceedingly  anxious  and  troubled  at 
the  thought  that  all  this  time  she  had  been 
alone,  without  any  medical  assistance.  I 
pictured  her  to  myself  as  sinking  rapidly 
into  fever  and  delirium.  Stimulated  by  all 
these  thoughts,  I  hurried  on,  while  the  doc- 
tor with  difllculty  followed.  At  length,  wc 
arrived  within  half  a  mile  of  the  Falls  ;  but 
I  could  not  sec  any  signs  of  the  house  which 
I  wished  to  find,  or  of  the  road  that  led  to 
it.  I  looked  into  all  the  roads  that  led  to 
the  river ;  but  none  seemed  like  that  one 
which  I  had  traversed. 

The  doctor  grew  every  moment  more 
vexed. 

"  Look  here  now,  Macrorie,"  said  he,  at 
last — "  I'll  go  no  farther — no,  not  a  step. 
I'm  used  up.  I'll  go  into  the  nearest 
house,  and  wait." 

Sayipg  this,  he  turned  abruptly,  and  went 
to  a  house  that  was  close  by 

I  then  dismounted,  went  to  the  npper 
bank  of  the  Montmorency,  where  it  joins 
the  St.  Lawrence  below  the  Falls,  and 
looked  down. 

The  ice  was  all  out.  Tlie  place  which 
yesterday  had  been  the  scene  of  my  Strug- 
gle  for  life  was  now  one  vast  sheet  of  dark- 
blue  water.  As  I  looked  at  it,  an  involun- 
tary shudder  passed  through  me ;  for  now 
I  saw  the  full  peril  of  my  situation. 


% 


30 


TllK  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


I  ( 


Lookin;;  iiloii}^  tlio  livor,  I  sinv  llii'  jiliu'e 
where  I  iuu;it  have  lauded,  iiiul  on  tlie  top 
of  tbo  steep  bank  I  saw  a  house  which 
seemed  to  be  tl'.e  one  where  1  had  found 
refuge.  Upon  tliis,  I  went  back,  and,  fret- 
ting the  di)Ctor,  wc  went  across  the  fields 
to  this  house.  I  knocked  eagerly  at  the 
door.  It  was  opened,  and  In  the  person  of 
the  hihilutit  l>er()re  nie  I  recognized  my  host 
of  the  evening  befure. 

"  How  is  maJauie  ?  "  I  asked,  hurriedly 
and  anxiously. 

"  Madame  ?  " 

"  Yes,  niadame — llic  lady,  you  know." 

"  Madame  ?    She  is  not  here." 

"  Not  here ;  "  I  cried. 

"Xou,  monsieur." 

"Not  here?  AVhat!  Not  here.'"  I 
uried  again.  "But  she  must  bo  here. 
Didn't  I  bring  her  hero  last  night  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  monsieur ;  but  she's  gone 
home." 

At  this,  there  burst  from  the  doctor  a 
peal  of  laughter — so  loud,  so  long,  so  sav- 
age, and  so  brutal,  that  I  forgot  in  a  mo- 
ment nil  that  he  had  been  doing  for  my 
sake,  and  felt  an  almost  irresistible  incli- 
nation to  punch  his  head.  Only  I  didn't ; 
and,  perhaps,  it  was  just  as  well.  The  sud- 
den inclination  passed,  and  there  remained 
nothing  but  an  overwhelming  sense  of  dis- 
appointment, by  which  I  was  crushed  for  a 
few  minutes,  while  still  the  doctor's  mock- 
ing laughter  sounded  in  my  ears. 

"  IIow  was  it  ?  "  I  asked,  at  length — 
"how  did  she  get  off?  When  I  left,  she 
was  in  a  fever,  and  wanted  a  doctor." 

"  After  you  loft,  monsieur,  she  slept,  and 
awoke,  toward  morning,  very  much  better. 
She  dressed,  and  then  wanted  us  to  get  a 
conveyance  to  take  her  to  Quebec.  AVe 
told  her  that  you  had  gone  for  a  doctor, 
and  that  she  had  better  wait.  But  this, 
sbe  said,  was  impossible.     She  would  not 


think  of  it.  Site  had  to  go  to  Quebec  as 
soon  as  possible,  and  entreated  us  to  find 
S(jnie  conveyance.  J?o  wo  found  a  wagon 
at  a  neighbor'."!,  threw  some  straw  in  it  and 
some  skins  over  it,  and  she  wmt  away." 

"  .She  went !  "  I  repeated,  in  an  imbecile 
way. 

"  Old,  monsieur." 

"  And  didn't  she  leave  any  word  ?  7 

"  Monsieur  ?  " 

"  Didn't  sho  leave  any  message  for — for 
mo?" 

"  N'on,  monsieur." 

"  Kot  a  word  V "  I  asked,  mournfully  and 
despairingly. 

The  reply  of  the  habitant  was  a  crushing 
one: 

"  ran  un  niot,  monsieur  !  " 

The  doctor  burst  into  a  shriek  of  sardonic 
laughter. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

DY  one's  OW.N  FIKESIDE. — THE  COMFOnTS  OF  A 
nACIIELOa. — CUEWISO  THE  CUD  OP  SWEET 
AND  DITTER  FANX'V. — A  DISCOVEUY  FULL  OP 
MORTIFICATION  AND  EMIlARnASSMENT. — JACK 
RAXDOLril  AGAIN. — NEWS  FROM  THE  SEAT 
OF  WAR. 

By  six  o'clock  in  the  evening  I  was  back 
in  my  room  again.  The  doctor  had  chafl'ed 
me  so  villanously  all  the  way  back  that  my 
disappointment  and  mortification  had  van- 
ished, and  had  given  place  to  a  feeling  of 
resentment.  I  felt  that  I  had  been  ill- 
treated.  After  saving  a  girl's  life,  to  bo 
dropped  so  quietly  and  so  completely,  was 
more  than  flesh  and  blood  could  stand. 
And  then  there  was  that  confounded  doc- 
tor, lie  fairly  revelled  in  my  situation, 
and  forgot  all  about  his  fiitigue.  However, 
before  I  left  him,  I  extorted  from  him  a 
promise  to  say  nothing  about  it,  swearing 


i  I 


■  *,<!»■•■- 


BY  ONE'S  OWN  FIRESIDE. 


31 


f 


■'4 


if  ho  didn't  I'd  sell  out  nnd  (luit  tlic  i^er- 
vici'.  TliiM  proiniso  lie  gave,  with  the  rc- 
iniirk  that  hu  would  reserve  the  subject  for 
his  own  t<pccial  use. 

Onco  within  my  own  room,  I  made  my- 
self comfortiililo  in  my  own  ((uiet  way, 
viz. : 

1.  A  roaring,  rod-hot  fire. 

2.  Curtains  closi  drawn. 

3.  Sofa  pidled  up  beside  said  fire. 

4.  Table  beside  sofa, 

5.  not  water. 
C.  Whiskey. 

7.  Tobacco. 

8.  Pipes. 

'.).  Fragrant  aromatic  stoara. 

10.  Sugar. 

11.  Tumblers. 

12.  Various  other  things  not  necessary 
to  mention,  nil  of  which  contributed  to 
throw  over  my  perturbed  spirit  a  certain 
divine  calm. 

Under  such  circumstances  while  every 
moment  brought  forward  some  new  sense 
of  rest  and  tranquillity,  my  mind  wandered 
back  in  a  kind  of  lazy  reverie  over  the 
events  of  the  past  two  days. 

Onco  more  I  wandered  over  the  crum- 
bling ice  ;  once  more  I  floundered  through 
the  deep  pools  of  water ;  once  more  I 
halted  in  front  of  that  perilous  ice-ridge, 
with  my  back  to  the  driving  storm  and  my 
eyes  searching  anxiously  for  a  way  of 
progress.  The  frowfiing  cliff,  with  its  flag 
floating  out  stiff  in  the  tempest,  the  dim 
shore  opposite,  the  dark  horizon,  the  low 
moan  of  the  river  as  it  struggled  against 
its  icy  burden,  all  these  came  back  again. 
Then,  through  all  this,  I  rushed  foi  trard, 
scrambling  over  the  ice-ridge,  reaching 
the  opposite  plain  to  hurry  forward  to  the 
shore.  Thou  came  the  rushing  sleigh,  the 
recoiling  horse,  the  swift  retreat,  the  mad 
race  along  the  brink  of  the  icy  edge,  the 


ti'rrible  plunge  into  the  deep,  dark  water. 
Then  came  the  wild,  half-human  shriek  of 
the  drowning  horse,  and  the  sleigh  with 
its  despairing  freight  drifting  down  toward 
me.  Through  all  this  there  broke  forth 
amid  the  clouds  of  that  reverie,  the  vision 
of  that  pale,  agonized  face,  with  i  '.to 

lips  and  Imploring  cyca — the  face  ol  tier 
whom  I  had  saved. 

So  I  had  saved  her,  had  I  ?  Yes,  there 
was  no  doubt  of  that.  Never  would  I  lose 
the  memory  of  that  unparalleled  journey  to 
Montmorency  Fall,  as  I  toiled  on,  dragging 
with  rao  that  frail,  faiLting,  despairing 
companion.  I  had  sustained  her ;  I  had 
cheered  her ;  I  had  stimulated  her ;  and, 
finally,  at  that  supreme  moment,  when  she 
fell  down  in  sight  of  the  goal,  I  had  put 
forth  the  last  vestige  of  my  own  strength 
in  bearing  her  to  a  place  of  safety. 

And  so  she  had  loft  me. 

Left  me — without  a  Avord — without  a 
hint — without  the  remotest  sign  of  any 
thing  like  recognition,  not  to  speak  of  grati- 
tude ! 

i'a.9  II  n  mot  ! 

Should  I  ever  see  her  again  ? 

This  question,  which  was  very  natural 
under  the  circumstances,  caused  me  to 
make  an  efTort  to  recall  the  features  of 
my  late  companion.  Strange  to  say,  my 
effort  was  not  particularly  successful.  A 
white,  agonized  face  was  all  that  I  remem- 
bered, and  afterward  a  white,  senseless  face, 
belonging  to  a  prostrate  figure,  whieh  I  was 
trying  to  raise.  This  was  all.  What  that 
face  might  look  like  in  repose,  I  found  it 
impossible  to  conjecture. 

And  now  here  was  a  ridiculous  and  mor- 
tifying fact.  I  found  myself  haunted  by 
this  white  face  and  these  despairing  eyes, 
yet  for  the  life  of  me  I  could  not  reduce 
that  face  to  a  natural  expression  so  as  to 
learn  what  it  might  look  like  in  common 


A 


II 


:[# 


32 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


n    . 


f 


M 


1       ''!: 


i  ill 
rill 


.1:; 


I 


1  ■." 


life.  ShouUl  I  know  her  again  if  I  met  her  ? 
I  could  not  say.  Would  she  know  me  ?  I 
eould  not  Answer  that.  Should  I  ever  be 
able  to  find  her  ?     How  could  I  tell  ? 

Baffled  and  utterly  at  a  los3  what  to  do 
toward  getting  the  identity  of  the  subject 
of  my  thoughts,  I  wandered  off  into  various 
moods.  First  I  became  cynical,  but,  as  I 
was  altogether  too  comfortable  to  be  mo- 
rose, my  cynicism  was  of  a  good-naturod 
character.  Then  I  made  merry  over  my 
own  mishaps  and  misad\'enturos.  Then  I 
reflected,  in  a  lofty,  philosophic  frame  of 
mind,  upon  the  faithlessness  of  woman, 
and,  passing  from  this  into  metaphysics, 
I  soon  boozed  off  into  a  gentle,  a  peace- 
ful, and  a  very  consoling  doze.  When  I 
awoke,  it  was  morning,  and  I  concluded  to 
go  to  bed. 

On  the  morrow,  at  no  matter  what  o'clock, 
I  had  just  fiiil.-ihed  breakfast,  when  I  heard 
a  well-known  footstep,  and  Jack  Randolph 
burst  in  upon  me  in  his  usual  style. 

"  Well,  old  cliap,"  he  cried,  "  where  the 
mischief  have  you  been  for  the  last  two 
days,  and  what  have  you  been  doing  with 
yourself  ?  I  heard  that  you  got  back  from 
Point  Levi — though  how  the  deuce  you  did 
it  I  can't  imagine — and  that  you'd  gone  off 
on  horseback  nobody  knew  where.  I've 
been  here  fifty  times  since  I  saw  you  last. 
Tell  you  what,  Jlacrorie,  it  wasn't  fair  to 
me  to  give  me  the  slip  this  way,  when  you 
knew  my  delicate  position,  and  all  that  I 
can't  spare  you  for  a  single  day.  I  need 
your  advice.  Look  here,  old  fellow,  I've 
got  a  letter." 

And  saying  this.  Jack  drew  a  letter  from 
his  pocket,  with  a  grave  face,  and  opened 
it. 

So  taken  up  was  Jack  with  his  own 
affairs,  that  he  did  not  think  of  inquiring 
into  the  reasons  of  my  prolonged  absence. 
For  my  part,  I  listenod  to  him  in  a  dreamy 


way,  and,  when  he  drew  out  the  letter,  it 
was  only  with  a  strong  effort  that  I  was 
able  to  conjecture  what  it  might  be.  So 
much  had  passed  since  I  had  seen  him, 
that  our  last  conversation  had  become  very 
dim  and  indistinct  in  my  memory. 

"  Oh,"  said  I,  at  last,  as  I  began  to  recall 
the  past,  "  the  letter — h'm — ah — the — the 
widow.     Oh,  yes,  I  understand." 

Jack  looked  at  me  in  surprise. 

"  The  widow  ? "  said  he.  "  Tooh,  man ! 
what   are  you  talking  about?      Are  you 

crazy  ?    This  is  from  her — from  Miss 

that  is — from  the  other  one,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  I,  confusedly.  "  True — 
I  remember.    Oh,  ye;: — Miss  Phillips." 

"S'.iss  Phillips!"  cried  Jack.  "Hang 
it,  man,  what's  the  matter  with  you  to-day  ? 
Haven't  I  told  you  all  about  it  ?  Didn't  I 
tell  you  what  I  wouldn't  breathe  to  another 
soul — that  is,  excepting  two  or  three? — 
and  now,  when  I  come  to  you  at  the  crisis 
of  my  fate,  jou  forget  all  about  it." 

"Xonscnse!"  said  I.  "The  fact  is,  I 
went  to  bed  very  late,  and  am  F.carcely 
awake  yet.  Go  on,  old  boy,  I'm  all  right. 
Well,  what  does  she  say  ? " 

"  I'll  be  hanged  if  you  know  what  you're 
talking  about,"  said  Jack,  pettishly. 

"  Nonsense !  I'm  all  right  now ;  go  on." 

"  You  don't  know  who  this  letter  is 
from." 

"  Yes,  I  do." 

"  Who  is  it  ? "  saW  Jack,  watching  me 
with  jealous  scrutiny. 

"  Why,"  said  I,  "  it's  that  other  one — the 
— hang  it !  I  don't  know  her  name,  so  I'll 
call  her  Number  Three,  or  Number  Four, 
whichever  you  like." 

"  You're  a  cool  baud,  any  way,"  said 
Jack,  sulkily.  "  Is  this  the  way  you  take 
a  matter  of  life  and  death  ?  " 

"  Life  and  death  ?  "  I  repeated. 

"Life  and  death!"  said  Jack.    "Yea, 


BY  ONE'S  O^YN  FIRESIDE. 


03 


life  and  doatli.  Why,  see  hero,  Jlacroiie, 
ril  Ijc  haiigud  if  I  don't  believe  that  you've 
forgotten  every  word  I  told  you  about  my 
scrape.  If  that's  the  case,  all  I  can  Kay  is, 
that  I'm  not  the  man  to  force  my  confi- 
dences where  they  are  so  very  unimpor- 
tant." 
And  Jack  made  a  move  toward  the  door. 
"  «top.  Jack,"  said  I.  "  The  fact  is,  I've 
been  queer  for  a  couple  of  days.  I  had  a 
beastly  time  on  the  river.  Talk  about  life 
and  death  !  Why,  man,  it  was  the  narrow- 
est scratch  with  me  you  ever  saw.  I  didn't 
go  to  Point  Levi  at  all." 
"  The  deuce  you  didn't !  " 
"  Xo  ;  I  pulled  up  at  Montmorency." 
"  The  deuce  you  did !  IIow's  that  ? " 
"  Oh,  never  mind ;  I'll  tell  you  some 
other  time.  At  any  rate,  if  I  seem  dazed 
or  confused,  don't  notice  it.  I'm  coming 
round.  I'll  only  say  this,  that  I've  lost  a 
little  of  my  memory,  and  am  glad  I  didn't 
lose  my  life.  But  go  on.  I'm  up  to  it 
now.  Jack.  You  wrote  to  Number  Three, 
proposing  to  elope,  and  were  staking  your 
existence  on  her  answer.  You  wished  me 
to  order  a  head-stone  for  you  at  Ander- 
son's, four  feet  by  eighteen  incLjs,  witli 
nothing  on  it  but  the  name  and  date,  and 
not  a  word  about  the  virtues,  et  cetera. 
There,  you  see,  my  memory  is  all  right  at 
last.  And  now,  old  boy,  what  docs  she 
say  ?    When  did  you  get  it  ?  " 

"  I  got  it  this  morning,"  said  Jack.  "  It 
was  a  lo!)g  delay.  She  is  always  prompt. 
Something  must  have  happened  to  delay 
her.  I  was  getting  quite  wild,  and  would 
have  put  an  end  to  myself  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  Louie.  And  then,  you  know,  the 
widow's  getting  to  be  a  bit  of  a  bore. 
Look  here — what  do  you  think  of  my  sell- 
ing out,  buying  a  farm  in  Minnesota,  and 
taking  little  Louie  there  ?  " 
"  What !  "  I  cried.  "  Look  here,  Jack, 
3 


whatever  you  do,  don't,  for  Heaven's  sake, 
^et  poor  little  Louie  entangled  in  your  af- 
fairs." 

"  Oh,  don't  you  fret,"  said  Jack,  dole- 
fully. "  Xo  fear  about  her.  She's  all 
right,  so  far. — But,  see  here,  there's  the 
letter." 

And  saying  this,  he  tossed  over  to  me 
the  letter  from  "  Xumber  Three,"  and,  fill- 
ing a  pipe,  began  smoking  vigorously. 

The  letter  was  a  singular  one.  It  was 
highly  romantic,  and  full  of  devotion.  The 
writer,  however,  declined  to  accept  of  Jack's 
proposition.  Slio  pleaded  her  father;  she 
couldn't  leave  him.  She  implored  Jack  to 
wait,  and  finally  subscribed  herself  his  till 
death.  But  the  name  which  she  signed 
was  "  Stella,"  and  nothing  more ;  and  this 
being  evidently  a  pet  name  or  a  nom  dc 
plume,  threw  no  light  whatever  upon  her 
real  personality. 

"  Well,"  said  Jack,  after  I  had  read  it 
over  about  nine  times,  "  what  do  you  think 
of  that?" 

"  It  gives  you  some  reprieve,  at  any 
rate,"  said  I. 

"  Keprieve  ?  "  said  Jack.  "  I  don't  think 
it's  the  sort  of  letter  that  a  girl  should  write 
to  a  man  who  told  her  that  he  was  going 
to  blow  his  brains  out  on  her  doorstep.  It 
doesn't  seem  to  be  altogether  the  right  sort 
of  thing  under  the  circumstances." 

"  Why,  confound  it,  man,  isn't  this  the 
very  letter  that  you  wanted  to  pet?  You 
didn't  really  want  to  run  away  with  her  ? 
You  said  so  yourself." 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right ;  but  a  fellow  likes 
to  be  appreciated." 

"  So,  after  all,  you  wanted  her  to  elope 
with  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  not  that,  exactly.  At  the  same 
time,  I  didn't  want  a  point-blank  refusal.'' 

"  You  ought  to  be  glad  she  showed  so 
much  sense.      It's  all  the  better  for  vou. 


THE  LADY   OF  THE  ICE. 


3 


li 


li 


It  is  au  additional  liulp  to  you  iu  your 
dilHcultics." 

'■  I  don't  see  how  it  helps  me,"  said  Jack, 
iu  a  kind  of  grov.i.  "  I  don't  see  why  she 
refused  to  nm  oil'  with  a  fellow." 

Now  such  was  the  perversity  of  Jack 
that  ho  actually  felt  ill-natured  alicmt  this 
letter,  although  it  was  the  very  thing  that 
he  knew  was  best  for  him.  lie  wa.s  cer- 
tainly relieved  from  one  of  his  many  difficul- 
ties, but  at  the  same  time  ho  was  vexed  and 
mortified  at  this  rejection  of  his  proposal. 
And  he  dwelt  upon  his  disaitpoiutment  until 
at  length  he  brouglit  himself  to  believe  that 
"  Number  Three's  ''  letter  was  something 
like  a  personal  slight,  if  not  an  insult. 

lie  dropped  in  again  toward  evening. 

'•  Macrorie,"  said  he,  "  there's  one  place 
where  I  always  find  sympathy.  What  do 
you  say,  old  fellow,  to  going  this  evening 
to— 

cn  vT'Tf  ^  X. 

"  BEnTOS'S  ? — DEST  PLACE  IM  THE  TOWN. — 
GIRLS  ALWAYS  GLAD  TO  SEE  A  FELLOW. — 
rLESTT  OF  CHAT,  AND  LOTS  OF  FfN. — NO 
END  OF  LARKS,  TOC  KNOW,  AND  ALL  THAT 
SORT  OF  THING.'' 

In  order  to  get  rid  of  my  vexation,  mor- 
tification, humiliation,  and  general  aggrava- 
tion, I  allowed  Jack  to  persuade  mo  to  go 
that  evening  to  Colonel  Bertou's.  Not  that 
it  needed  much  persuasion.  On  the  con- 
trary, it  was  a  favorite  resort  of  mine.  IJoth 
of  us  were  greatly  addicted  to  dropping  in 
upon  that  hospitable  and  fascinating  house- 
hold. The  girls  were  among  the  most  live- 
ly and  genial  good  fellows  that  girls  could 
ever  be.  Old  Bcrton  had  retired  from  the 
army  with  enough  fortune  of  hi.s  own  to 
live  in  good  style,  and  his  girls  had  it  all 
their    own   way.      They  were   essentially 


(if  the  military  order.  They  had  all  been 
I)rouglit  up,  so  to  speak,  in  the  army,  and 
their  world  did  not  extend  beyond  it. 
There  were  three  of  them — Laura,  the  eld- 
est, beautiful,  intelligent,  and  accomplished, 
with  a  strong  leaning  toward  Ritualism; 
Nina,  innocent,  childish,  and  kitten-Uke; 
and  Louie,  the  \iniversal  favorite,  absurd, 
whimsical,  fantastic,  a  desperate  tease,  .and 
as  pretty  and  graceful  as  it  is  possible  for 
any  girl  to  l)e.  Au  aunt  did  the  maternal 
for  them,  kept  house,  chaperoned,  duen- 
nacd,  and  generally  overlooked  them.  The 
colonel  himself  was  a  fine  specimen  of  the 
ric:i.c  iiiil'diiirc.  lie  loved  to  talk  of  the  life 
which  he  had  left  behind,  and  fight  his  bat- 
tles over  again,  and  all  his  thoughts  were  in 
the  army.  But  the  girls  were,  of  course,  the 
one  attraction  in  his  hospitable  house.  The 
best  of  it  was,  they  were  all  so  accustomed 
to  homage,  that  even  the  most  desperate 
attentions  left  them  heart-whole,  in  maiden 
meditation,  fancy  free.  No  danger  of  over- 
flown sentiment  with  them.  No  danger  of 
blighted  affections  or  broken  hearts.  No 
nonsense  there,  my  boy.  All  fair,  and 
pleasant,  and  open,  and  above-board,  you 
know.  Clear,  honest  eyes,  that  looked 
frankly  into  yours  ;  fresh,  youthful  faces ; 
lithe,  elastic  figures  ;  merry  laughs  ;  sweet 
smiles;  soft,  kindly  voices,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing.  In  short,  three  as  kind,  gentle, 
honest,  sound,  pure,  and  healthy  hearts  as 
ever  beat. 

The  very  atmosphere  of  this  delightful 
house  was  soothing,  and  the  presence  of 
these  congenial  spirits  brought  a  balm  to 
each  of  us,  which  healed  our  wounded 
hearts.  In  five  minutes  Jack  was  far  away 
out  of  sight  of  all  his  troubles — and  in 
five  minutes  more  I  had  forgotten  all  about 
my  late  adventure,  and  the  sorrows  that 
had  resulted  from  it. 

After  a  time,  Jack  gravitated  toward 


59 


lad  all  been 
le  army,  auJ 

beyonJ  it. 
lura,  the  eld- 
ccomplijhed, 
1   Ritualism ; 

kitton-like ; 
jritc,  absurd, 
te  tease,  and 

possible  for 
the  maternal 
roned,  dueu- 
1  them.  The 
cimeu  of  the 
alk  of  the  life 
fight  his  bat- 
ughts  wore  in 
uf  course,  the 
house.    The 

0  accustomed 
3st  desperate 
lie,  in  maiden 
inger  of  over- 
N'o  danger  of 

.  hearts.  Xo 
.\.]\  fair,  and 
re-board,  you 
that  looked 
uthful  faces; 
aughs ;  sweet 

1  all  that  sort 
kind,  gentle, 

thy  hearts  as 

his  delightful 
presence  of 
ht  a  balm  to 
our  wounded 
was  far  away 
ibles — and  in 
tten  all  about 
sorrows  that 


tated  toward 


ve 

ra: 


ijli 


no 
In 

?oi 

lici 
I 

'hi 


per 

mu 
she 
que 


lips 

II 

son 
ligli 
pan 


I 


"BERTON'S?" 


35 


T.ouio,  leaving  nic  with  Laura,  talking  nic- 
(liavalism.  Louie  was  cviJonily  taking 
Jack  to  task,  and  very  energetically  too. 
Fragments  of  their  conversation  reached 
my  ears  from  time  to  time.  She  had  heard 
?oraething  aliout  5Irs.  Finnhnorc,  hut  what 
it  wa?,  and  whether  she  Itclievcd  it  or  not, 
could  not  bo  perceived  from  what  she  said. 
Jack  fought  her  off  skilfully,  and,  at  last, 
she  made  an  attack  from  another  quarter. 

"Oh,  Captain  Randolph,"  said  she,  "what 
a  delightful  addition  we're  going  to  have  to 
our  Quehec  society !  " 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Jack,  "  what  is  that  ?  "' 

"  How  very  innocent !  Just  as  if  you 
arc  not  the  one  who  is  most  concerned.'' 

"  I  ?  " 

"  Of  course.     Yon.     Next  to  me." 

"  I  don't  imderstand." 

"  Come,  now.  Captain  Randolph,  how- 
very  ridiculous  to  pretend  to  be  so  igno- 
rant ! " 

"Ignorant?"  said  Jack;  "ignorant  is 
not  the  wonl.  I  am  in  Egyptian  darkucs.^, 
I  assure  you." 

"  Egyptian  darkness  —  Egyptian  non- 
sense !  Will  it  help  you  any  if  I  tell  you 
her  name  ?  " 

"  Ilcr  name  !  Whose  name  ?  What 
'  her  ?  '  " 

Louie  laughed  long  and  merrily. 

"  Well,"  said  she,  at  leugth,  "  for  pure, 
perfect,  utter,  childlike  innocence,  commend 
me  to  Captain  Randolph  !  And  now,  sir," 
she  resumed,  "  will  you  answer  me  one 
question  ? "' 

"  Certainly — or  one  hundred  thousand." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  Miss  Thil- 
lips  ?  " 

"  I  think  she  is  a  very  delightful  per- 
son," said  Jack,  fluently — "  the  most  de- 
lightful I  have  ever  met  with,  present  com- 
l^any  excepted." 


but  what  do  you  think  of  her  coming  to 
live  here  ? " 

"  Coming  to  live  here  !  " 

"  Yes,  coming  to  live  here,"  repeated 
Louie,  playfully  imitating  the  tone  of  evi- 
dent consternation  with  which  Jack  spoke. 

"What!    Missriiillips?" 

"  Yes,  Miss  rhillips." 

"  Here  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Xot  here  in  Quebec  ?  " 

"  Yes,  here  in  Quebec — but  I  mnst  say 
that  you  have  missed  your  calling  in  life. 
Why  do  you  not  go  to  Xew  York  and  make 
your  fortune  as  an  actor  ?  You  must  take 
part  in  our  private  theatricals  the  next  time 
we  have  any." 

"  I  assure  }"0u,"  said  Jack,  "  I  never  was 
so  astonished  in  my  life." 

"  IIow  well  you  counterfeit ! ''  said  Louie ; 
"  never  mind.  Allow  me  to  congratulate 
you.  We'll  overlook  the  little  piece  of  act- 
ing, and  regard  rather  the  delightful  fact. 
Joined  once  more — ne'er  to  part — hand  to 
hand — heart  to  heart — memories  sweet — 
ne'er  to  fade — all  my  own — fairest  maid ! 
And  then  your  delicious  remembrances  of 
Sissiboo." 

"  Sissiboo  ?  "  gasped  Jack. 

"  Sissiboo,"  repeated  Louie,  with  admir- 
able gravity.  "  //<  )•  birth-place,  and  hence 
a  sacred  spot.  She  used  to  be  called  '  the 
maid  of  Sissiboo.'  But,  in  choosing  a  place 
to  live  in,  let  me  warn  you  against  Sissiboo. 
Take  some  other  place.  You've  been  all 
over  Xew  Brunswick  and  Xova  Scotia. 
Take  Petitcodiac,  or  Washe  Aemoak,  or 
Shubonaeadie,  or  Memramcook,  or  Reche- 
bueto,  or  Chiputnectieook,  or  the  Keune- 
becasis  Valley.  At  the  same  time,  I  have 
my  preferences  for  Piserinco,  or  Quaco." 

At  all  this.  Jack  seemed  for  a  time  com- 
pletely overwhelmed,  and  sat  listening  to 


"  That  is  to  be  understood,  of  course ;     Louie  with  a  sort  of  imbecile  smile.    Iler 


86 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


fli   0 


allusion  to  Miss  Phillips  cviilcutly  troubled 
liim,  and,  as  to  her  coming  to  Quebec,  he 
did  not  know  what  to  say.  Louie  twitted 
Lim  for  some  time  longer,  but  at  length  he 
got  her  away  into  a  corner,  whore  he  began 
a  conversation  in  a  low  but  very  earnest 
tone,  which,  however,  was  sufllcicntly  audi- 
ble to  make  his  remarks  understood  by  all 
in  the  room. 

And  what  was  he  saying  ? 

lie  was  disclaiming  all  intentions  with 
regard  to  Miss  Phillips. 

And  Louie  was  listening  quietly  ! 

Perhaps  bdicvingMiim ! ! 

The  scamp  ! ! ! 

And  now  I  noticed  that  Jack's  unhappy 
tendency  to^wcll,  to  conciliaie  ladies — was 
in  full  swing. 

Didn't  I  see  him,  then  and  there,  f^lyly  try 
to  take  poor  little  Louie's  hand,  utterly  for- 
getful of  the  disastrous  result  of  a  former 
attempt  on  what  ho  believed  to  be  that 
same  hand  ?  Didn't  I  see  Louie  civilly  draw 
it  away,  and  move  her  chair  farther  off  from 
his  ?  Didn't  I  see  him  flush  up  and  begin 
to  utter  apologies  ?  Didn't  I  hear  Louie  Ijc- 
gin  to  talk  of  operas,  and  things  in  general ; 
and  soon  after,  didn't  I  see  her  rise  and 
come  over  to  Laura,  and  Nina,  and  me,  as 
we  were  playing  dummy  ?  Methinks  I  did. 
Oh,  Louie !  Oh,  Jack  !  Is  she  destined 
to  be  Number  Four !  or,  good  lleavens ! 
Number  Forty  ?  Why,  the  man's  mad  ! 
He  engages  himself  to  every  girl  he  sees  ! 

Home  again. 

Jack  was  full  of  Louie. 

"  Such  fun  !  such  life !  Did  you  ever  sec 
any  thing  like  her  ?  " 

"  But  the  widow,  Jack  ?  " 

"  Ilang  the  widow  !  " 

"  Miss  Phillips  ?  " 

"  Bother  Miss  Phillips  !  " 

"  And  Number  Three  ?  " 

Jack's  face  grew  sombre,  and  he  was 


silent  fi»r  a  time.  At  length  n  sudden 
tliouglit  Seized  him. 

"  By  Jove  !  "  he  exclairacil,  "  I  got  a  let- 
ter to-day,  which  I  haven't  opened.  Ex- 
cuse me  a  moment,  oM  chap." 

So  saying,  he  pulled  a  letter  from  his 
pocket,  opened  if,  and  read  it. 

He  told  mc  the  contents. 

It  was  from  Miss  Phillips,  and  she  told 
her  dearest  Jack  that  her  father  was  about 
moving  to  Quebec  to  live. 

CHAPTER   XI. 

"  MACT.ORIE,  MY  BOY,  II.VVK  YOU  BEEN  TO 
A.NDKUSON'S  yet  ?  "  —  "  NO."  —  "  WELL, 
TllEX,  I  WAST  VOL'  TO  ATTEND  TO  THAT 
lirSlNE.SS  OF  THE  STOSK  TO-MOIUIOW.  DON't 
FOnOET  THE  SIZE — FOUU  FEET  DY  EIGHTEEN' 
INCHES  ;  AND  NOTHING  DIT  THE  NAME  ANi) 
DATE.  THE  TIME'S  COME  AT  LAST.  THERE'S 
NO  PLACE  FOR  ME  BUT  THE  COLD  GRAVE, 
WHERE  THE  PENSIVE  PASSER-DY  MAY  DROP 
A  TE.Ul  OVER  THE  MOUIINFIL  FATE  OP  JACK 
RANDOLPH.      AMEN.      R.  I.  P." 

Such  was  the  remarkable  manner  in 
which  Jack  Randolph  accosted  mc,  as  he 
entered  my  room  on  the  following  day  at 
about  midnight.  His  ftice  was  more  rue- 
ful than  ever,  and,  what  was  more  strik- 
ing, his  clothes  and  hair  seemed  neglected. 
This  convinced  lue  more  than  any  thing 
that  he  had  received  some  new  blow,  and 
that  it  had  struck  home. 

"  You  seem  hard  hit,  old  man,"  said  L 
"  ^Vhere  is  it  ?     AVho  is  it  ?  " 

Jack  groaned. 

"  Has  Miss  Phillips  come  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Is  it  the  widow  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Number  Three  ? " 

Jack  shook  his  head. 


W: 


"MACKORIE,   MY  EOY,   HAVE   YOU  BEEN  TO  ANDERSON'S  YET  J "    37 


igth  a  sudden 

1,  "  I  got  a  Ict- 
,  opened.     Ex- 

t'ttcr  from  his 

I. 

I,  and  she  told 
;hcr  was  about 


YOU  BEEN  TO 
0."  —  "  WELL, 
TEND  TO  THAT 
ORUOW.  don't 
GT  DY  EIGHTEEN 

THE  NAME  AKi) 
LAST.  THEUE'S 
E  COLD  GBAVE, 
R-BY  MAY  DROP 
.  FATE  OP  JACK 


0  manner  m 
ted  nie,  as  he 
lowing  day  at 
Tas  more  rue- 
is  more  strik- 
Qcd  neglected, 
lan  any  thing 
new  blow,  and 

man,"  said  I. 


1 


"  Not  duns  ?  " 

"  N'o." 

"  Then  I  give  up." 

"  It's  Louie,"  said  Jack,  with  an  expres- 
sion of  face  that  was  as  near  an  ajiproxi- 
mation  to  what  is  called  sheepishncss  as 
any  thing  I  ever  saw, 

"  Louie  ? "  I  repeated. 

"  Yes—" 

"  \Vhat  of  her  ?  What  has  she  been  do- 
ing ?  IIow  is  it  possible  ?  Good  Ueavens  ! 
you  haven't — "  I  stopped  at  the  fearful 
suspicion  that  came  to  me. 

"  Y'es,  I  have ! "  said  Jack,  sulkily.  "  I 
know  what  you  mean.  I've  proposed  to 
her." 

I  started  up  from  the  sofi  on  which  I 
was  lounging — my  pipe  dropped  to  the 
ground — a  tumbler  followed.  I  struck  my 
clinched  fist  on  the  table. 

"  Randolph  ! "  said  I,  "  this  is  too  much. 
Confound  it,  man  !  are  you  mad,  or  are  you 
a  villain  ?  AVhat  the  devil  do  you  mean 
by  trilling  with  the  affections  of  that  little 
girl?  By  Heavens  !  Jack  Randolph,  if  you 
carry  on  this  game  with  her,  there's  not  a 
man  in  the  regiment  that  won't  join  to  crush 
you." 

"  Pitch  in,"  said  Jack  quietly,  looking  at 
me  at  the  same  time  with  sometliing  like 
approval.  "  That's  the  right  sort  of  thing. 
That's  just  what  I've  been  saying  to  my- 
self. I've  been  swearing  like  a  trooper  at 
myself  all  the  way  here.  If  there's  any 
one  on  earth  that  every  fellow  ought  to 
stand  up  fur,  it's  little  Louie.  And  now 
you  sec  the  reason  why  I  want  you  to  at- 
tend to  that  little  affair  of  the  gr.ave- 
strne." 

At  Jack's  quiet  tone,  my  excitement  sub- 
sided. I  picked  up  my  pipe  again,  and 
thought  it  over. 

"  The  foct  is.  Jack,"  said  I,  after  about 
t(Ui  minutes  of  profound  smoking,  "  I  think 


you'll  have  to  carry  out  that  little  plan  of 
yours.  t?ell  out  as  soon  as  you  can,  and 
take  Louie  with  you  to  a  farm  in  Minne- 
sota." 

"  Easier  said  than  done,"  said  Jack,  sen- 
tentiously. 

"  Done  ?  why,  man,  it's  easy  enough. 
Y'ou  can  drop  the  other  three,  and  retire 
from  the  scene.  That'll  save  Louie  from 
coming  to  grief." 

"  Yes  ;  but  it  won't  make  her  come  to 
Miimesota." 

"  Why  not  ?  She's  just  the  girl  to  go 
anywhere  with  a  fellow." 

"  But  not  with  Jack  Randolph." 

"  What  humbug  are  you  up  to  now  ?  I 
don't  understand  you." 

"  80  I  see,"  said  Jack,  dryly.  "  Y"ou 
take  it  for  granted  that  because  I  pro- 
posed, Louie  accepted.  Whereas,  that 
didn't  happen  to  be  the  case.  I  proposed, 
but  Louie  disposed  of  me  pretty  cfTcctu- 
ally." 

"  5Iittened  ? "  cried  L 

"  Mittened  ! "  said  Jack,  solemnly. 
"  Hence  the  gr.avestone." 

"  But  how,  in  the  name  of  wonder,  did 
that  happen  ?  " 

"  Easily  enough.  Louie  happens  to 
have  brains.  That's  the  shortest  way  to 
account  for  her  refusal  of  my  very  valuable 
devotions.  But  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it, 
and,  after  that,  we'll  decide  about  the  head- 
stone. 

"  Y'ou  sec,  I  went  up  there  this  evening, 
and  the  other  girls  were  off  somewhere, 
and  so  Louie  and  I  were  alone.  The  aunt 
was  in  the  room,  but  she  soon  dozed  off. 
Well,  we  had  great  larks,  no  end  of  fun — 
she  chaffing  and  twitting  me  about  no  end 
of  things,  and  especially  the  widow ;  so,  do 
you  know,  I  told  her  I  had  a  great  mind  to 
tell  her  how  it  happened ;  and  excited  her 
curiosity  by  saying  it  all   originated  in  a 


>■■■■*■ 


•»»K 


'     !< 


:  I 


!l! 


38 


THE  LADY   OF  THE  ICE. 


iniatakc.  Thi.-',  of  course,  ni;ulc  her  wild 
to  know  all  about  it,  and  so  I  at  Inst  told 
her  tiie  whole  thing — the  mistake,  jou 
know,  about  the  hand,  and  all  that — and 
my  horror.  Well,  hang  me,  if  I  didn't 
think  shcM  go  into  fits.  I  never  saw  her 
laugh  so  nmch  Itefore.  Aa  soon  as  she 
could  speak,  she  began  to  remind  me  of  the 
ajiproaching  advent  of  Miss  Phillips,  and 
asked  me  what  I  was  going  to  do.  8he 
didn't  appear  to  be  at  all  struck  by  the  fact 
that  lay  at  the  bottom  of  my  disclosures ; 
that  it  was  her  own  baud  that  had  caused 
the  mischief,  but  went  on  at  a  wild  rate 
about  my  approaching  'sentimental  see- 
saw,' as  she  called  it,  when  my  whole  time 
would  have  to  be  divided  between  my  two 
fiancUs.  .Slic  remarked  that  the  old  prov- 
erb called  mau  a  pendulum  between  a  smile 
and  a  tear,  but  that  I  was  the  first  true 
case  of  a  human  pendulum  which  she  had 
ever  seen. 

"  Xow  the  little  scamp  was  so  perfectly 
fascinating  while  she  was  teasing  me,  that 
I  felt  myself  overcome  with  a  desperate 
fondness  for  her ;  so,  seeing  tiiat  the  old 
aunt  was  sound  asleep,  I  blurted  out  all 
my  feelings.  I  swore  that  she  waji  the 
only — " 

"  01),  omit  all  that.  I  know — but  what 
bosh  to  say  to  a  sensible  girl !  " 

"  Well,  you  know,  Louie  held  her  hand- 
kerchief to  her  face,  while  I  was  speaking, 
and  I — ass,  dolt,  and  idiot  that  I  was — felt 
convinced  that  she  was  crying,  ller  frame 
shook  with  convulsive  shivers,  that  I  took 
for  repressed  sobs.  I  saw  the  little  hand 
that  held  the  little  white  handkerchief  to 
her  face — the  same  slender  little  hand  that 
was  the  cause  of  my  scrape  with  Mrs.  Fin- 
nimore — and,  still  continuing  the  confession 
of  my  love,  I  thought  I  would  soothe  her 
grief.  I  couldn't  help  it.  I  was  fairly  car- 
ried away.     I  reached  forward  my  hand, 


and  tried  to  take  hers,  all  the  time  sayinr: 
no  end  of  spooney  thing-. 

"  But  the  moment  I  touched  her  hand, 
she  rolled  her  chair  back,  and  snatched  it 
away— 

"  And  then  she  threw  back  her  head — 

"  And  then  there  came  such  a  peal  of 
musical  laughter,  that  1  swear  it's  ringing 
in  my  ears  yet. 

"  What  made  it  worse  was,  not  merely 
what  she  considered  the  fun  of  my  pro- 
posal, but  the  additional  thought  that  sud- 
denly flashed  upon  lier,  that  I  had  just  now 
so  ab>urdly  mistaken  her  emotion.  For, 
confound  it  all !  as  I  reached  out  my  hand, 
T  said  a  lot  of  rubbish,  and,  among  other 
things,  implored  her  to  let  me  wipe  her 
tears.  This  was  altogether  too  much. 
Wipe  her  tears  !  And,  Heavens  and  earth, 
she  was  shaking  to  pieces  all  the  time  with 
nothing  but  laughter.  Wipe  her  tears ! 
Oh,  Macrorie  !  Did  you  (.ar  hoar  of  such 
an  ass '? 

"  Well,  you  know  she  couldn't  get  over  it 
for  ever  so  long,  liut  laughed  no  end,  while 
I  sat  utterly  amazed  at  the  extent  to  which 
I  had  made  an  ass  of  myself,  nowever, 
she  got  over  it  at  la?f. 

"  '  Well,'  said  I,  '  I  hope  you  feel  better.' 

"  '  Thanks,  yes ;  Ijut  don't  get  into  a  tem- 
per. Will  you  promise  to  answer  me  one 
question  ?  ' 

"  '  Certainly  ;  most  happy.  If  you  think 
it  worth  while  to  do  any  thing  else  but 
laugh  at  me,  I  ought  to  feel  flattered.' 

" '  Xow,  that's  what  I  call  temper,  and 
you  must  be  above  such  a  thing.  After 
all,  Fm  only  a  simple  little  girl,  and  you — 
that  is,  it  was  so  awfully  absurd.' 

"And  here  she  seemed  about  to  burst 
forth  afresh.     But  she  didn't. 

"  '  What  I  was  going  to  ask,'  she  be- 
gan, in  a  very  grave  way,  '  what  I  was  go- 
ing to  ask  is  this,  If  it  is  a  fair  question, 


"MACRORIE,  MY  BOY,  HAVE  YOU  BEEN  TO  ANDEKSON'S  YET?"   39 


lio  time  snyinj; 

heil  her  liaml, 
id  snntohcd  it 

:  licr  head — 
ich  a  peal  of 
?:u'  it's  ringing 

IS,  not  merely 

u  of  n>y  pro- 

light  that  sud- 

[  had  just  now 

motion.     For, 

out  my  hand, 

among  other 

me  wipe  her 

r    too    niueh. 

ens  and  earth, 

the  time  with 

D    her    tears ! 

hoar  of  such 

ii't  get  over  it 
no  end,  while 
tent  to  which 
If.     Ilowever, 

u  feel  better.' 
et  into  a  tcm- 
iswer  me  one 

If  you  think 

ling  else  but 
ittered.' 

temper,  and 
thing.     After 

1,  and  you — 
J-d.' 
out  to  burst 


?k,'  she  be. 
at  I  was  go- 
air  question, 


how  many  of  these  little  entanglements  do 
you  hap]ien  to  have  just  now  ? ' 

"  'Oh,  Louie  ! '  I  began,  in  mournful  and 
reproacliful  tones. 

" '  Oh  don't,  don't,'  she  cried,  covering 
her  face,  '  don't  begin;  I  can't  stand  it. 
If  you  only  knew  how  absurd  you  look 
when  you  are  sentimental.  You  are  al- 
ways so  funny,  you  know ;  and,  when  you 
try  to  be  solemn,  it  looks  so  awfully  ridicu- 
lous! Now,  don't — I  really  cannot  stand 
it.  Please — ple-e-e-e-e-easc  don't,  like  a 
good  Captain  Randolph.' 

"At  this  she  clasped  her  hraids  and 
looked  at  me  with  such  a  grotesfiuo  expres- 
sion of  mock  entreaty,  that  I  knocked  un- 
der, and  burst  out  laughing. 

"  She  at  once  settled  herself  comfortably 
in  her  easy-chair. 

" '  Now  that's  what  I  call,'  said  she, 
placidly,  '  a  nice,  good,  sensible,  old-fash- 
ioned Captain  Randolph,  that  everybody 
loves,  and  in  whose  aflairs  all  his  innumer- 
able friends  take  a  deep  interest.  And  now 
let  me  ask  my  question  again :  How  many  ? ' 

"  '  How  many  what  ?  '  said  I. 

"  '  Oh,  you  know  very  well.' 

" '  How  can  I  know,  when  you  won't  say 
what  you  mean  ? ' 

"  '  How  many  entanglements  ?  ' 

"  '  Entanglements  ? ' 

"  '  Yes.  Engagements,  if  j'ou  wish  me  to 
bo  so  very  explicit.' 

"'What  nonsense!  Why  you  know  all 
about  it,  and  the  cause — ' 

"' Ah,  now,  that  is  not  frank;  it  isn't 
friendly  or  honest,'  said  the  little  witch. 
'Come,  now.  Are  there  as  many  as — as — 
fifty?' 

"'Nonsense!' 

'"Twenty,  then?' 

"  '  IIow  absurd  ! ' 

"  '  Ten  ? ' 

"  '  Of  course  not.' 


"  '  Five  ? ' 

" '  N'o.' 

"  '  Four  ?  ' 

"  '  Why,  haven't  I  told  you  all  ? ' 

"  '  Four,'  she  persisted. 

" '  Xo— ' 

"  '  Three,  tlien— ' 

"  '  It  isn't  fair,'  said  I,  to  press  a.  fellow 
this  way.' 

"  '  Three  ?  '  she  repeated. 

"  I  was  silent.  I'm  not  very  ([uiek,  and 
was  trying,  in  a  dazed  way,  to  turn  it  off. 

'• '  Three  ! '  she  cried.  '  Three  !  I  knew 
it.  Oh,  tell  me  all  abo\it  it.  Oh,  do  tell 
me!  Oh,  do — please  tell  me  all.  Oh,  do, 
ple-e-c-e-case  tell  me.' 

"  And  then  she  liegan,  and  she  teased 
and  she  coaxed,  and  coaxed  and  teased,  un- 
til at  last—" 

Jack  hesitated. 

"  Well,"  said  I. 

"  Well,"  said  he. 

"  You  didn't  really  tell  her,"  said  I, 

"  Yes,  but  I  did,"  said  he. 

"  You  didn't — you  couldn't." 

"I'll  be  hanged  if  I  didn't  !" 

"  Not  about  Number  Three  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Number  Three,"  said  Jack,  look- 
ing at  me  with  a  fixed  and  slightly  stony 
stare. 

Words  were  useless,  and  I  sought  expres- 
sion for  my  feelings  in  the  more  emphatic 
whistle,  which  now  was  largely  protracted. 

"And  how  did  she  lake  it?"  I  asked, 
at  length,  as  soon  as  I  found  voice  to 
speak. 

"  As  usual.  Toased  me,  no  end.  Allud- 
ed to  my  recent  proposal.  Asked  me  if  I 
had  intended  her  to  be  Number  Four,  and 
declared  her  belief  that  I  had  thirty  rather 
than  three.  Finally,  the  aimt  waked  up,  and 
wanted  to  know  what  we  were  laughing  at. 
Whereupon  Louie  said  that  she  was  laugh- 
ing at  a  ridiculous  story  of  mine,  about  an 


40 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


!t     if 


Inilian  jiif^glur  who  I'oulil  keep  three  or- 
unf;c3  in  the  air  at  the  same  time. 

" '  Captain  Kamhilph,'  said  she  '  you  know 
all  about  Frederick  tlie  (ireat,  of  course?' 

'"Of  course,'  I  said,  'and  Alexander  the 
Great  also,  and  Julius  Ciesar,  and  Nebu- 
chadnezzar, arf  the  poet  says.' 

"'Perhaps  you  remember,'  said  Louie, 
in  a  grave  tone,  for  her  aunt  was  wide 
awake  now,  'that  the  peculiar  excellence 
of  the  genius  of  that  great  monarch  con- 
sisted in  his  successful  cITorts  to  encounter 
the  coalition  raised  against  him.  Though 
subject  to  the  attacks,  of  the  throe  united 
powers  of  France,  Austria,  and  Kussia,  he 
was  still  able  to  repel  them,  and  finally 
rescued  himself  from  destruction.  Three 
assailants  could  not  overpower  him,  and 
surely  others  may  take  courage  from  his 
example.' 

"And  after  that  little  speech  I  came 
away,  and  here  I  am." 

For  .some  time  we  sat  in  silence.  Jack 
did  not  seem  to  expect  any  remarks  from 
lue,  but  appeared  to  be  rapt  in  his  own 
thoughts.  For  my  part,  I  had  nothing 
whatever  to  saj-,  and  soon  became  ciiually 
rapt  in  my  meditations. 

And  what  were  they  about  ? 

What?  Why,  the  usual  subject  which 
had  filled  my  mind  for  the  past  few  days 
— my  adventure  on  the  river,  and  my  mys- 
terious companion.  Mysterious  though  she 
was,  she  was  evidently  a  lady,  and,  though 
I  could  not  be  sure  about  her  face,  I  yet 
could  feel  sure  that  she  was  beautiful.  So 
very  romantic  an  adventure  had  an  unusual 
charm,  and  this  charm  was  heightened  to 
a  wonderful  degree  by  the  mystery  of  her 
sudden  and  utter  disappearance. 

And  now,  since  Jack  had  been  so  very 
confidential  with  me,  I  determined  to  return 
that  confidence,  and  impart  my  secret  to 
him.     Perhaps  he  could  help  me.    At  any 


rate,  ho  was  the  only  person  to  whom  I 
could  tliink  of  telling  it. 
So  you  sec — 

CHAPTEU  XIL 

MV  AnVKNirUES  ItEllEAIlSEn  TO  JXCK  RAX. 
noi.l'll. — "  MV  DEAU  FELLOW,  YOr  DON'T 
HAV     so!" — " 'poN    MV   LIFE,    YES." — "  IIV 

JOVE  !     (iLi>    ciiAr,    now    close    you've 

HKKN  !      YOU    MU.ST    HAVE    NO     E.NI)    OP  SE- 

rr.KTSi    AND  what's  become  of  the  l.v- 

I>V  ?      WHO    IS  i-HE  ?  " 

Who  is  she  ?  Ay.  Wlio,  indeed  ? 
riai'u't  I  been  torturing  my  brain  for  sev- 
enty-nine hours,  sleeping  as  well  as  waking, 
with  tliat  one  imanswered  and  apparently 
unauswerable  question  ? 

"  Who  is  she  ?  "  repeated  Jack. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  that's  the  very  thing 
that  I  wish  to  find  out,  and  I  want  you  to 
help  me  in  it.  I  told  you  that  she  didn't 
I'javc  i.ny  message — " 

"  But,  didn't  you  find  out  her  name?  " 

"No." 

"  By  Jove !  You're  a  queer  lot.  Why, 
Pd  have  found  out  her  name  the  first 
thing." 

"  But  I  didn't — and  now  I  want  your 
help  to  find  out  not  only  her  name,  but 
herself." 

At  this  Jack  rose,  loaded  his  pipe  sol- 
emnly, and,  with  the  air  of  one  who  is  mak- 
ing preparations  for  a  work  of  no  common 
kind,  lighted  it,  flung  himself  back  in  the 
easy-chair,  and  sent  forth  vast  volumes  of 
smoke,  wliieli  might  have  been  considered 
as  admiraljly  symbolical  of  the  state  of  our 
minds. 

"  Well,  Maerorie,"  said  he,  at  last,  "  I'll 
tell  you  what  I'd  do.  I'd  go  round  to  all 
the  hotels,  and  examine  the  lists." 

"  Pooh ! " 


MV  ADVENTURES  UEIIEAUSED  TO  JACK  RANDOLPH. 


41 


,  to  wlioin   I 


0    JACK    KAX. 

,  Yon    don't 

YKS."— "  HV 

LOSE     you've 

END    OK  8E- 

OF    THE    LA- 


10,  iiuIecJ  ? 
rain  for  s ev- 
il as  waking, 
I  apparently 

very  thing 
vant  you  to 
it  she  tlidu't 

!•  name  ?  " 

lot.     Why, 
le  the   first 

want  your 
r  name,  but 

is  pipe  sol- 
ivho  is  mak- 
110  common 
lack  in  the 
volumes  of 
considered 
state  of  our 

i  last,  "I-ll 
)und  to  all 


"  Well,  tlien,  take  the  directory  and  hunt 
up  all  the  names." 

"  Nonsense ! " 

"Why  'nonsense?'" 

"  Because    I    don't    know    her    name. 
Didn't  I  impress  that  \ij)()ii  your  mind?  " 

"  Uy  Jcve !  "  cried  ifack  Kaudolph,  after 
which  he  again  relapsed  into  silence. 

"See  here,  Macrcrie,"  said  he,  at  length, 

"  I  have  it." 

"What?" 

"  Go  round  next  Sunday  to  all  the  church- 
es." 

"What's  the  use  of  that?" 

"  Go  round  to  the  churches,"  repeated 
Jack, "  scan  every  bonnet — and  then,  if  you 
don't  see  her,  why  then,  why — go  to  the 
photograpliie  saloons.  You'll  bo  sure  to 
find  her  picture  there.  Uy  Jove!  Why, 
Macrorie,  the  game's  all  in  your  own  hands. 
These  photographic  saloons  are  better  than 
a  whole  force  of  detective  police.  There's 
your  chance,  old  man.  You'll  find  her. 
Do  that,  and  you're  all  right.  Oh,  yes — 
ou'll  find  her,  as  sure  as  ray  name's  Jack 
Randolph." 

"No  go,  Jack,"  said  I.  "You  see  I 
couldn't  recognize  her  even  if  I  were  to 
see  her." 

"Couldn't  what?" 

"  Couldn't  recognize  her." 

"  You  surely  would  know  her  if  you  saw 
her." 

"  I  don't  think  I  should." 

"  Well,  of  all  the  confounded  fixes  that 
ever  I  met  with,  this  is  the  greatest !  " 

"That's  the  peculiarity  of  my  present 
situation." 
Jack  relapsed  into  smoky  silence. 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  Jack,  after  a  brief 
pause,  "  we've  got  to  go  to  work  systemat- 
ically.    Now,  first  of  all,  I  want  to  know 
what  she  looks  like." 
"  Well,  that's  the  very  thing  I  don't  know." 


"  Nonsense !  You  must  know  something 
about  it.  Is  she  a  blonde  or  a  brunette? 
You  can  answer  that,  at  least." 

"  I'm  not  sure  that  I  can." 

"What!  don't  you  know  even  the  color 
of  her  complexion?" 

"  When  I  saw  her,  she  was  as  white  as 
a  sheet.  Even  her  lips  were  bloodless. 
You  see,  she  was  frightened  out  of  her 
wits." 

"  Well,  then,  her  hair — her  hair,  man  ! 
,'as  that  dark  or  light  ? " 

"  I  didn't  see  it." 

"Didn'cseoit?" 

"  No.  You  see  it  was  covered  by  her 
hood.  Think  of  that  driving  sleet.  She 
had  to  cover  herself  up  as  much  as  eho 
could  from  the  terrible  pelting  of  the 
storm." 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  ask  only  one  question 
more,"  said  Jack,  dryly.  "  I  hope  you'll 
be  able  to  answer  it.  A  great  deal  depends 
upon  it.  In  fact,  upon  a  true  answer  to 
this  question  the  whole  thing  rests.  Gather 
up  all  your  faculties  now,  old  chap,  and 
try  to  answer  me  correctly.  No  shirking 
now — no  humbug,  for  I  won't  stand  it.  On 
your  life,  Macrorie,  and,  by  all  your  future 
hopes,  answer  me  this — was  your  friend — a 
woman  or  a  man  ? '' 

At  the  beginning  of  this  solemn  question, 
I  had  roused  myself  and  sat  upright,  but  at 
its  close  I  flung  myself  down  in  disgust. 

"  Well,"  said  Jack,  "  why  don't  you  an- 
swer ?  " 

"  Jack,"  said  I,  severely,  "  I'm  not  in  the 
humor  for  chaff." 

"  Chaff!  my  dear  fellow,  I  only  want  to 
get  a  basis  of  action — a  base  of  operations. 
Are  you  sure  your  friend  was  a  woman  ? 
I'm  in  earnest — really." 

"  That's  all  rubbish — of  course  she  was 
a  woman — a  lad}- — young — beautiful — but 
the  anguish  which  she  felt  made  her  face 


1 


It 


42 


THE  LAUY  OF  THE  ICE. 


gocm  like  Unit  of  Niohc,  or— or— well  lilu- 
Bome  inarblo  f-tutuu  roprL'Sunlliig  won  or 
dcfpalr,  uikI  all  that  Hort  of  thing.  What's 
the  use  of  humbujrging  a  fellow?  Why 
not  talk  BCU80,  or  at  least  hold  your 
tongue  ? " 

"  Don't  row,  old  boy.  You  wore  bo  ut- 
terly in  the  dark  about  your  frieiul  that  I 
wanted  to  see  how  far  your  knowledge  ex- 
tended. I  consider  now  that  a  great  point 
is  settled,  and  we  have  bomething  to  start 
from.  Very  well.  She  was  really  a  woin- 
nu  1 " 

"  A  lady,"  said  I.     , 

"  And  a  lady,"  repeated  Jack. 

" Young  ? " 

"  Young." 

"And  beautiful  as  an  angel,"  I  inter- 
posed, en  auslastieally. 

"And  beautiful  as  an  angd,"  ehimcd  in 
Jack.  "  liy-the-hy,  JIaerorie,  do  you  think 
you  would  know  her  by  her  voice  ?  " 

"  Well,  n — no,  I  don't  think  I  would. 
You  soe,  she  didn't  say  mueh,  and  what 
she  did  say  was  wrung  out  of  her  by  ter- 
ror or  despair.  The  tones  of  that  voice 
might  be  very  different  if  she  were  talking 
about — well,  the  weather,  for  instance.  The 
voice  of  a  woman  in  a  storm,  and  in  the 
face  of  death,  is  not  exactly  the  same  in  tone 
or  modulation  as  it  is  when  she  is  quietly 
.speaking  the  commonplaces  of  the  drawing- 
room." 

"  There's  an  immense  amount  of  truth  in 
that,"  said  Jack,  "  and  I  begin  to  under- 
Btand  and  appreciate  your  position." 

"  N'evcr,  while  I  live,"  said  I,  earnestly, 
"  will  I  forget  the  face  of  that  woman  as  I 
held  her  fainting  form  in  my  arms,  and 
cheered  her,  and  dragged  her  back  to  life  ; 
never  will  I  forget  the  thrilling  tones  of 
her  voice,  as  she  implored  me  to  leave  her 
and  save  myself;  but  yet,  as  I  live,  I  don't 
think  that  I  could  recognize  her  face  or  her 


voice  if  I  were  to  encounter  her  now,  under 
ordinary  circumstances,  in  any  drawing- 
room.    Do  you  understand  ? " 

"  Dimly,"  said  Jack  j  "  yes,  in  fact,  I  may 
say  thoroughly.  You  have  an  uncommonly 
forcible  way  of  putting  it  too.  I  say,  Ma- 
crorie,  you  talk  just  like  our  chaplain." 

"  Oh,  bother  the  chaplain  !  " 

"  That's  the  very  thing  I  intend  to  do 
before  long." 

"  Well,  it'll  be  the  best  thing  for  you. 
Married  and  done  for,  you  know." 

"  Xonscnse !  I  don't  mean  that.  It's 
somcthiu^;  else — the  opposite  of  matrimo- 
ny." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Oh,  never  mind,  I'll  let  you  know  when 
the  time  comes.  It's  a  little  idea  of  my 
own  to  countermine  the  widow.  But  come 
— don't  let's  wander  off.  Your  business  is 
the  thing  to  be  considered  now — not  mine. 
Xow  listen  to  me." 

"  Well." 

"  Let'8  put  your  case  in  a  plain,  simple, 
matter-of-faet  way.  You  want  to  find  a 
person  whose  name  you  don't  know,  whose 
face  you  can't  recognize,  and  wlioso  voice 
even  is  equally  unknown.  You  can't  give 
any  clew  to  her  at  all.  You  don't  know 
whether  she  lives  in  Quebec  or  in  New 
York.    You  only  know  she  is  a  woman  ?  " 

"  A  lady,"  said  I. 

"  Oh,  of  course — a  lady." 

"And  an  English  lady,"  I  added.  "I 
coidd  tell  that  by  the  tone  of  her  voice." 

"  She  may  have  been  Canadian." 

"  Yes.  5hiny  of  tlie  Canadian  ladies 
have  the  English  tone." 

"  Well,  that  may  be  all  very  true,"  said 
Jack,  after  some  moments'  thought ;  "  but 
at  the  same  time  it  isn't  any  guide  at  all. 
Maerorie,  my  boy,  it's  evident  that  in  this 
instance  all  the  ordinary  modes  of  investi- 
gation arc  no  good.      Streets,  churches. 


icr  now,  under 
any  druwiiig. 

,  in  fact,  I  may 
II  uncommonly 
).  I  H;iy,  Ma- 
clinpluin." 

intend  to  do 

:h!ng  for  you. 

ow." 

m  that.     It's 

0  of  matrirao- 


)u  Icnow  when 
Ic  idea  of  my 
w.  Hut  come 
iir  business  is 
)w — not  mine. 


% 


plain,  simple, 
nt  to  find  a 
know,  TV'lioso 
1  wlioso  voice 
ou  can't  give 
I  don't  know 
c  or  in  New 
a  woman  ? " 


:  added.    "I 
ler  voice." 
iun." 
ladian  ladies 


J 


•y  true,"  said 
ought;  "but 
guide  at  all. 
that  in  this 
■s  of  iuvcsti- 
3,   churches, 


1   j 


^ 


■  ) 


* 


ADVERTISING. 


43 


druwing-rooms,  photographic  saloons,  hotel 
registers,  directories,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing  arc  utterly  useless.  We  must  try 
some  other  plan." 

"  That's  a  fact,"  said  I,  "  but  what  Other 
plan  can  be  thought  of?  " 

Jack  said  nothing  for  some  time. 

lie  sat  blowing  and  puffing,  and  puffing 
and  blowing,  apparently  bringing  all  the 
resources  of  his  intellect  to  bear  upon 
this  great  problem.  At  last  he  seemed  to 
hit  upon  an  idea. 

"  I  have  it !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  have  it. 
It's  the  only  thing  left." 

"  What's  that  ?  " 

"  Macrorie,  my  boy,"  said  Jack,  with  an 
indescribable  solemnity,  "  I'll  tell  you  what 
wc  must  do.     Let's  try — 

CUAPTER  XIII. 

"advertising!!!" 

"  Advertising  ?  "  said  I,  dubiously, 

"  Yes,  advertising,"  ropoated  Jack.  "  Try 
it.  Put  a  notice  in  all  the  papers.  Begin 
with  the  Quebec  papers,  and  then  send  to 
Montreal,  Ottawa,  Toronto,  Hamilton,  King- 
ston, London,  and  all  the  other  towns. 
After  that,  send  notices  to  the  leading  pa- 
pers of  Kew  York,  Philadelphia,  Baltimore, 
Richmond,  St.  Louis,  New  Orleans,  Cincin- 
nati, Portland,  Chicago,  Boston,  and  all  the 
other  towns  of  the  United  States." 

"  And  while  I'm  about  it,"  I  added,  "  I 
may  as  well  insert  them  in  the  English, 
IrisL,  Scotch,  French,  German,  Spanish, 
Italian,  Turkish,  and  Indian  journals." 

"  Oh,  bosh  ! "  said  Jack,  "  I'm  in  ear- 
nest. What's  the  use  of  nonsense  ?  Real- 
ly, my  dear  fellow,  why  not  advertise  in 
the  Quebec  papers  ?  She'll  be  sure  to  see 
it." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  aficr  some  thought,  "  on 


the  whole  it  isn't  a  bad  idea.  It  cau't 
do  any  harm  at  any  rate." 

"  Harm  ?  Why,  my  dear  boy  ^  your 
only  chance." 

"  All  right,  then ;  lot's  try  advertising."' 

And  saying  this,  I  brought  out  my  entire 
writing-apparatus  and  displayed  it  on  the 
table. 

"  Will  you  try  your  fist  at  it,  Jack  ? "  I 
asked. 

"  I  ?  nonsense !  I'm  no  good  at  writing. 
It's  as  much  as  I  can  do  to  write  an 
'  I.  0.  U.,'  though  I've  had  no  end  of  prac- 
tice. And  then,  as  to  my  letters — you 
ought  to  see  them  1  No,  go  ahead,  old 
boy.  You  write,  and  I'll  be  critic.  That's 
about  the  st3le  of  thing,  I  fancy." 

At  this  I  sat  down  and  comnancod  the 
laborious  task  of  composing  an  advertise- 
ment. In  a  short  time  I  had  written  out 
the  following : 

^' A  gentleman  who  accoiiipaniid  a  lady 
across  the  ice  on  the  'id  of  April,  was  separated 
from  her,  and  since  then  has  been  anxious  to 
Jind  out  what  became  of  hr.  Any  infor- 
mation will  console  a  distracted  breast.  T?ie 
gentleman  implores  the  lady  to  communicate 
■with  him.     Address  Box  3,383." 

I  wrote  this  out,  and  was  so  very  well 
satisfied  with  it,  that  I  read  it  to  Jack.  To 
my  surprise  and  disgust,  he  burst  out  into 
roars  of  laughter. 

"  Why,  man  alive ! "  he  cried,  "  that  will 
never  do.  You  must  never  put  out  that 
sort  of  thing,  you  know.  You'll  have  the 
whole  city  in  n  state  of  frantic  excitement. 
It's  too  rubbishy  sentimental.  No  go. 
Try  again,  old  man,  but  don't  write  any 
more  of  that  sort  of  thing." 

I  said  nothing.  I  felt  wounded;  but  I 
had  a  dim  idea  that  Jack's  criticism  was 
just.  It  vas  rather  sentimental.  So  I 
tried  again,  and  this  time  I  wrote  out  some- 
thing very  different. 


\i 


44 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


With  the  following  result : 

"  1/  the  jxirti/  who  crossed  the  ice  on  tlie  Sd 
1/  April  irithA.  Z.  mil  <jivc  her  address,  she 
leill  confir  an  uitsjxahible  favor.  Write  to 
Box  Xo.  3,333." 

"  Oh,  that'll  never  do  at  all ! "  cried  Jack, 
as  I  read  it  to  him.  "  In  the  first  place, 
your  '  A.  Z.'  is  too  nirstorious ;  and,  in 
the  second  place,  you  are  still  too  senti- 
mental with  your  '  unspeakable  favor.'  Try 
again." 

I  tried  again,  and  wrote  the  following: 

"  A  gcnthinan  't  anjciuus  to  harn  the  ad- 
dress  of  a  party  who  accompanied  him  over 
the  ice  on  the  3u  0/  April.  ^Address  Box  Xo. 
3,333." 

"Oh,  that'll  never  do !  "  said  Jack. 

"  Why  not  ? "' 

"  ^^^ly,  man,  it's  too  cold  and  formal." 

"  Ilang  it  all  I  What  !((7/  suit  you  ?  One 
is  too  warm ;  another  is  too  cold." 

Saying  this,  I  tried  once  more,  and  wrote 
the  ftillowing : 

"A.  B.  h'ls  lH:n  iriiiuff  in  vain  tojrndthe 
address  of  the  p'irltj  who  accompanied  him 
over  the  ice  oit  the  Sd  of  April.  ]\"ll  she  have 
the  kindness  to  eommunicatc  with  him  to  Box 
Xo.  3.333  ?  " 

"  Xo  go,"  said  Jack. 

'•  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  see,  you  call  her  a  '  party,' 
and  then  announce  that  this  '  party '  is  a 
woman.  It  won't  do.  I  wouldn't  like  to 
call  any  lady  a  '  party.'  You'll  have  to 
drop  that  word,  old  boy."' 

At  thi3  I  flung  down  the  pen  in  de- 
spair. 

•'  Well,  hang  it ! "  said  I.  What  will  do  ? 
You  try  it.  Jack.'' 

"  Nonsense ! "  said  he.  "  I  can't  write ; 
I  can  only  criticise.  Both  faculties  are  very 
good  in  their  way.  You'll  have  to  start  from 
another  direction.  I'll  tell  you  what  to  d  ) 
— try  a  roundabout  way." 


"  A  roundabout  way  ? "  I  repeated,  doubt- 
fully. 

"  Y'cs." 

"  What's  that  ?  " 

"  Why,  advertise  for — let  me  see— oh, 
yes — advertise  for  the  French  driver.  He 
was  drowned — wasn't  he  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  if  you  advertise  for  him,  she  will 
respond,  and  thus  you  will  come  into  con- 
tact with  her  without  making  a  fool  of  your- 
self." 

"  By  Jove,  Jack,"  said  I,  "  that's  not  a 
bad  idea!  I  think  I  get  your  meaning. 
Of  course,  if  she  has  any  soul,  she'll  sym- 
pathize with  the  lost  driver.  But  what 
name  shall  I  put  ?  " 

"  Was  he  a  common  driver  ?  I  gathered 
this  from  your  story.'' 

"  Oh,  yos.  It  was  a  sleigh  from  the  coun- 
try— hired,  you  know,  not  a  private  sleigh." 

"  8hc  couldn't  have  known  his  name, 
then  ? " 

"  I  suppose  not.  It  looked  like  a  slciirh 
picked  up  liap-liazard  to  take  her  across.'' 

''  Well,  risk  it,  and  put  in  an  assumed 
name.  Make  up  something.  Any  name 
will  do.  The  lady,  I  dare  say,  hasn't  the 
smallest  idea  of  the  driver's  name.  Trot 
out  something — N'apoleon  Bonaparte  Gris, 
or  any  thing  else  you  like." 

"  Ilow  would  Lavoisier  do?  " 

"  Too  long." 

"  Well,  Noir,  then." 

"  I  don't  altogether  like  that." 

"  IloUin." 

"  Literary  associations,"  objected  Jack. 

"  Well,  then,  Le  Verrier,"  said  I,  after  a 
moment's  thought. 

"  Lo  Verrier — "  repeated  Jack.  "  Well, 
leave  out  the  article,  and  make  it  plain  Ver- 
rier.     That'll  do.     It  sounds  natural." 

"  Verrier,"  said  I.  "  And  for  the  Cliris- 
tian  name  what  ? '' 


ADVERTISING  I  !  I 


45 


"  Piml,"  suggorflod  Jack. 

"  Paul — very  well.  Paul  Verricr  —  a 
very  good  name  for  a  Canadian.  All  right. 
I'll  insert  an  advenisement  from  his  dis- 
tracted parent." 

And  I  wrote  out  this  : 

"  Notice. — Paul  Vcrricr,  of  Chmtdiirc, 
left  hh  home  on  the  o'l  of  Ajirll  last,  to  con- 
vey a  lady  to  Quchti'  across  the  ice,  lie  has 
not  since  bccu  heard  of.  As  the  river  broke 
vp  on  that  day,  his  friendx  arc  nnxions  to 
know  his  fate.  Any  one  who  can  give  any 
information  about  those  who  crossed  on  that 
date  will  confer  a  great  favor  on  his  afflict- 
ed father.  Address  Pierre  Vcrrier,  Box 
;),n33." 

"  That's  about  the  Uiing,"  said  Jack, 
after  I  had  road  it  to  him.  "  Tliat'll  fetch 
her  down.  Of  course,  she  don't  know  the 
name  of  the  habitant  that  drove  her ;  and, 
of  course,  she'll  think  that  thi.9  is  a  notice 
published  by  the  afflicted  father.  AYhat 
then  ?  Wliy,  down  she  comes  to  vhe  res- 
cue. Afflicted  father  suddenly  reveals  him- 
self in  the  person  of  the  gallant  Macrorie. 
Grand  excitement — mutual  explanations — 
tableau — and  the  curtain  falls  to  the  sound 
of  light  and  joyous  music." 

"  Bravo,  Jack  !  But  I  don't  like  to  set- 
tle my  affairs  this  way,  and  leave  yours  in 
disorder." 

"  Oh,  I'm  all  right,"  said  Jack.  "There's 
no  immediate  danger.  I'm  settling  down 
into  a  state  of  stolid  desp.alr,  you  know.  If 
it  wasn't  for  that  last  business  with  Louie, 
I  could  be  quite  calm.  That's  the  only 
thing  that  bothers  me  now," 

"  I  should  think  the  widow  would  bother 
you  more." 

"  Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  she's  getting  to 
bo  a  bit  of  a  bore.  She's  too  affectionate 
and  cxigcantc,  and  all  that,  you  know.  But, 
then,  I  always  leave  early.  I  dine  with  her 
at  seven,  and  get  away  before  nine.    Then 


I  go  to  Louie's — or,  at  least,  that's  the 
way  I  intend  to  do." 

"  You're  going  to  Louie's  again,  then  ?  " 

"  Going  to  Louie's  again  ?  Why,  man 
alive,  what  do  you  take  nie  for?  Going 
again?  I  should  think  I  was.  Why, 
Louie's  the  only  comfort  I  have  left  on 
earth." 

"  But  Number  Three  ?  " 

Jack  sighed. 

"  Poor  little  thing  !  "  said  he.  "  She 
seems  to  be  rather  down  just  now.  I 
think  she's  regretting  that  she  didn't  take 
my  offer.  But  I  wrote  her  a  note  to-day, 
telling  her  to  cheer  up,  and  all  that." 

"But  Jliss  Phillips?  What'U  you  do 
when  she  comes  ?  When  will  she  be 
here  ?  " 

"  She's  expected  daily." 

"  That  will  rather  complicate  matters — 
won't  it  ?  " 

"  Sufficient  for  the  day,"  said  Jack. 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  my  boy.  I  feel 
very  much  struck  by  Lottie's  idea  a  tout  the 
three  oranges.  You'll  find  it  precious 
hard  to  keep  yottr  three  affairs  in  motion. 
You  must  drop  one  or  two." 

"Come,  now,  Macrorie — no  croaking. 
You've  got  me  into  a  placid  state  of  mind 
by  telling  mc  of  your  little  affair.  It  gave 
me  something  to  think  of  besides  my  own 
scrapes.  So  don't  you  go  to  work  and 
destroy  the  good  effect  that  you've  pro- 
duced. For  that  matter,  I  won't  lot  you. 
Pm  off,  old  chap.  It's  fifteen  minutes  to 
three.  You'd  better  seek  your  balmy  cottch. 
Xo — don't  stop  me.  You'll  croak  me  into 
despair  again.    Good-night,  old  man !  " 


I       Ml 


I        ♦: 


46 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


I 


li 


'  ij 


^i    i 


cn.vrTEn  xiv. 

A  CONCEHT. — A  siXGfLAn  CIURACTER. — "  COD 
SAVE  Tlin  QrEF.X." — A  FENIAN'. — A  GENE- 
RAL   ROW. — MACr.ORIE    TO    THE    RESCl'E  ! — 

macrorie'.^  maiden  speech,  and  its  sin- 

OrLAR  EFFECTlVENESi?.  —  O'lIALLORAS.  —  A 
^:TUA^•^:E  COMfASIOX.  —  ISTITED  TO  PAR- 
TAKE  OF   nOSPlTALITV. 

(1.\  the  following  Jay  I  sent  my  notice  to 
the  papers. 

Oil  the  evening  of  that  day  there  was  to 
be  a  concert.  Everybody  wa3  going.  It 
waa  xuider  the  patronage  of  the  military, 
and  of  course  everybody  had  to  go.  For 
you  must  know  that,  in  a  garrison-town  like 
Quebec,  we  of  the  military  order  have  it  all 
our  own  way.  If  we  smile  on  an  undertak- 
ing, it  succeeds.  If  we  don't,  it  languishes. 
If  we  frown,  the  only  result  is  ruin.  But, 
as  we  are  generally  a  good-natured  lot,  wc 
smile  approvingly  on  almost  every  thing. 
It  gets  to  bo  an  awful  bore ;  but  what  can 
wc  do  ?  Societies  wish  our  countenance 
at  their  public  gatherings,  and  we  have  to 
give  it.  Renovolent  associations  ask  our 
subscriptions  ;  joint-stock  companies  wish 
our  names ;  missionaries  and  musicians, 
lawyers  and  lecturers,  printers  and  preach- 
ers, tailors  and  teachers,  operas  and  orato- 
rios, balls  and  P.iMe-moetings,  funerals  and 
festivities,  churches  ami  concerts — in  short, 
every  thing  that  lives  and  moves  i\nd  has  its 
being  awaits  the  military  smile.  And  the 
smile  is  smiled.  Aud  so,  I  tell  you  what 
it  is,  my  dear  fellow,  it  amounts  to  this, 
that  the  life  of  an  officer  isn't  by  any  means 
the  butterfly  existence  that  you  imagine  it 
to  be.  What  with  patronizing  Tom,  Dick, 
and  Harry,  inspeetinjr  militia,  spouting  at 
volunteers,  subscribing  to  charities,  buying 
at  bazaars,  assisting  at  concerts,  presiding 


at  public  dinners,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing 
no  end,  it  gets  to  be  a  pretty  difficult  mat- 
ter to  keep  body  and  soul  together. 

The  concert  under  consideration  hap- 
pened to  be  a  popular  one.  The  best  of 
the  regimental  bands  had  been  kindly  lent 
to  assist,  and  there  were  songs  by  amateurs 
who  belonged  to  the  first  circles  in  Quebec, 
both  civil  and  militarj-.  It  was  quite  a 
medley,  and  the  proceeds  were  intended  for 
some  charitable  purpose  or  other.  The 
house  was  crowded,  and  I  could  not  get  a 
seat  without  extreme  difficulty. 

The  concert  went  on.  They  sang  "  An- 
nie Laurie,"  of  course.  Then  followed  ''  La 
ci  darem ; "  then  "  D'un  Pescator  Igno- 
bile ; "  then  "  Come  gentil ; "  then  "  Auld 
Lang-syne  ;  "  then  "  Ah,  mon  Fils !  "  then 
"  Roy's  Wife  of  Aldivalloch ; "  then  "  The 
Last  Rose  of  Summer ; "  then  "  AUistcr 
MacAlIister;"  then  "The  Harp  that  oneo 
through  Tara's  Halls." 

As  this  last  song  was  being  sung,  1  be- 
came aware  of  an  old  gentleman  near  me 
who  seemed  to  be  profoundly  affected. 
"  The  Last  Rose  of  Summer  "  had  evident- 
ly touched  him,  but  Tara  had  an  overpower- 
ing effl'ct  on  him.  It  was  sung  confound- 
edly well,  too.  The  band  came  in  with  a 
wild,  wailing  strain,  that  was  positively 
heart-breaking.  The  party  just  mentioned 
was,  as  I  said,  old,  and  a  gentleman,  but  ho 
was  tall,  robust,  broad-shouldere<l,  with 
eagle-like  beak,  and  keen  gray  eyes  that 
were  fitting  accompaniments  to  so  distin- 
guished a  feature.  His  dress  was  rather 
careless,  but  his  air  and  the  expression  of 
his  face  evinced  a  mixture  of  eccentricity 
and  a  sense  of  superiority.  At  least,  it 
had  evinced  this  until  the  singing  of  Tara. 
Then  he  broke  down.  First  he  bowed  his 
head  down,  resting  his  forehead  upon  his 
hands,  which  were  supported  by  his  cane, 
and  several  deep-drawn  sighs  cscape<l  him. 


A  FENIAN. 


47 


Tlicn  ho  raised  his  head  again,  aud  loolicd 
up  at  (he  ceiling  witli  an  evident  en'ort  to 
assume  a  earelesd  expression.  Then  he 
again  hid  his  face.  But  the  song  went  on, 
and  the  melancholy  wail  of  the  accompani- 
ment continued,  and  at  last  the  old  gentle- 
man ceased  to  struggle,  and  gave  himself 
up  to  the  influence  of  that  wonderful  music, 
lie  sat  erect  and  rigid  ;  his  hands  in  front 
of  him  clasped  tightly  round  his  stick  ;  and 
his  eyes  fixed  on  vacancy  ;  and  as  I  looked 
at  hira  I  saw  big  tears  slowly  coui-sing  down 
his  cheeks. 

At  length  the  song  ceased,  and  he  im- 
patiently dashed  his  tears  away,  and  looked 
furtively  and  suspiciously  around,  as  though 
trying  to  sec  if  any  one  had  detected  his 
weakness.  I,  of  course,  looked  away,  so 
that  he  had  not  the  smallest  reason  for  sup- 
posing that  I  had  seen  him. 

After  this  the  concert  went  on  through 
a  varied  collection  of  pieces,  an  i  yl  the 
time  I  wondered  who  the  old  gentleman 
with  the  eagle  face  a\  .  tender  sensDiilities 
might  be.  And  in  this  state  of  wonder  I 
continued  until  the  close. 

At  last  came  the  usual  concluding  piece 
— "God  save  the  Queen." 

Of  course,  as  everybody  knows,  when  the 
national  anthem  is  sung,  it  is  the  fashion 
all  over  the  British  empire  for  the  whole 
audience  to  rise,  and  any  one  who  remains 
seated  is  guilty  of  a  deliberate  insult  to  the 
majesty  of  that  empire.  On  this  occasion, 
as  a  mattci'  of  course,  everybody  got  up, 
but  1  was  surprised  to  see  that  the  old  gen- 
tleman remained  seated,  with  his  hands 
clinched  tightly  about  his  cane. 

I  was  not  the  only  one  who  had  noticed 
this. 

The  fact  is,  I  had  pot  into  a  part  of  the 
hall  which  was  not  altogether  congenial  to 
my  taste.  I  had  pot  my  ticket  at  the  door, 
and  found  that  all  the  reserved  seats  were 


taken  up.  Consequently  I  had  to  take  my 
chance  among  the  general  public.  Now 
this  general  public  haiipcned  to  be  an  aw- 
fully loyal  public,  and  the  momcut  they 
found  that  a  man  was  among  them  who 
deliberately  kept  his  scat  while  the  national 
anthem  was  being  sung,  they  began  to  get 
into  a  furious  state  of  excitement, 

Let  me  say  also  that  there  was  very  suf- 
ficient reason  for  this  excitement.  All 
Canada  was  agog  ''out  the  Fenians. 
Blood  had  been  shed.  An  ■  lon  had 
taken  place.  There  was  no  joke  about  it. 
Tlic  Fenians  were  not  an  imaginary  danger, 
but  a  real  one.  All  the  newspapers  were 
full  of  the  subject.  By  the  Fenians  every 
n  understood  an  indefiDite  number 
,..  ,  disbanded  veteran  soldiers  of  the 
late  American  war,  who,  having  their  hand 
in,  were  not  willing  to  go  back  to  the  mo- 
notony of  a  peaceful  life,  but  preferred 
rather  a  career  of  excitement.  Whether 
this  suspicion  were  well  founded  or  not 
doesn't  make  the  slightest  difl'crence.  The 
eflect  on  the  Canadian  mind  was  the  same 
as  if  it  were  true.  Now,  since  the  Canadian 
mind  was  thus  roused  up  to  this  pitch  of  uni- 
versal excitement,  there  existed  a  very  gen- 
eral "vatch  for  Fenian  emissaries,  and  any 
of  that  brotherhood  w  ho  showed  himself  too 
openly  in  certain  quarters  ran  a  very  serious 
risk.  It  was  not  at  all  safe  to  defy  popu- 
lar  opinion.  And  popular  opinion  ran 
strongly  toward  the  sentiment  of  loyalty. 
And  anybody  who  defied  that  sentiment  of 
loyalty  did  it  at  his  peril.  A  serious  peril, 
too,  mind  you.  A  mob  won't  stand  non- 
sense. It  won't  li.Uen  to  reason.  ,.  has 
a  weakness  for  summary  vengeance  and 
broken  bones. 

Now,  sorao  such  sort  of  a  mob  as  this 
began  to  gather  quickly  and  men.acingly 
round  my  elderly  friend,  who  had  thus 
so  rashly  shocked    their  common    senti- 


^\ 


I      1^ 


s.' 

', 


48 


THE  LADY   OF  THE  ICE. 


•I  ( 


iiicnt.  In  a  fow  moments  a  wild  uproar 
began. 

"  Tut  him  out !  " 

"  Knock  him  down ! " 

"  Ifustlo  liiiii ! "' 

"  Ile'^  a  Fenian  ! " 

"  Down  witli  him  !  " 

"  ranch  Ilia  lioad !  " 

"  Hold  him  up,  and  make  him  stand 
up!" 

"  Stand  up,  you  fool ! " 

"  Get  up  ! " 

"  Up  with  him !  Let's  pass  him  out  over 
our  heads !  " 

"A  Fenian!" 

"  We'll  show  him  he's  in  bad  company !  " 

"  lie's  a  spy ! " 

"  A  Fenian  spy  !  " 

*'  Up  with  him  !  "  "  Down  with  liim  ! " 
"Pitch  into  him!"  "Out  with  him!" 
"  Toss  him  ! "  "  Hustle  him  ! "  "  Punch 
his  head!"  "Throttle  him!"  "Level 
him  !  "  "  Give  it  to  him ! "  "  Turn  him 
inside  out !  "  "  Hold  up  his  boots  !  " 
"Walk  him  ofT!" 

All  these,  and  about  fifty  thousand  more 
t-houts  of  a  t^imilar  character,  burst  forth 
from  the  maddened  mob  around.  All 
mobs  arc  alike.  Any  one  who  has  ever 
seen  a  mob  in  a  row  can  understand  the 
action  of  this  particular  one.  They  gath- 
ered thick  and  fast  around  him.  They 
yelled.  They  howled.  The  music  of  tlie 
national  anthem  was  drowned  in  that  wild 
uproar.  They  pressed  close  to  him,  and 
the  savage  eyes  that  glared  on  him  menaced 
him  with  something  little  less  than  death  it- 
self. 

And  what  did  he  do  ? 

He? 

Why  he  bore  himself  splendidly. 

As  the  row  began,  he  rose  slowly,  hold- 
ing his  stick,  which  I  now  saw  to  be  a 
knotted  staff  of  formidable  proportions, 


and  at  length  reared  his  fij^uro  to  its  full 
height.  It  was  a  tall  and  majestic  figure 
which  he  revealed — thin,  yet  sinewy,  and 
towering  over  the  heads  of  the  roaring 
mob  aromid  him. 

He  confront'.'d  them  all  with  a  dark  frown 
on  his  brow,  and  blazing  eyes. 

"  Ye  beggars !  "  he  cried.  "  Come  on — 
the  whole  pack  of  ye !  A  Fenian,  ye  say  ? 
That's  tlirue  for  you.  Ye'vo  got  one,  an' 
ye'll  find  him  a  tough  customer  !  Come  on 
— the  whole  thousand  of  ye ! " 

And  sajnng  this,  he  swung  his  big,  for- 
midable knotted  stick  al)out  his  head. 

Those  nearest  him  started  back,  but  the 
crowd  behind  ruslied  forward.  The  row 
increased.  TIic  people  in  the  reserved 
seats  in  front  looked  around  with  an.xious 
eyes,  not  knowing  what  was  going  on. 

The  crowd  yelled  and  hooted.  It  surged 
nearer.  A  moment  more  and  the  tall  figure 
would  go  down. 

Xow,  I'm  a  loyal  man.  None  more  so. 
I'm  an  officer  and  a  gentleman.  I'm  ready 
at  any  moment  to  lay  down  my  life  for  the 
queen  and  the  rest  of  the  royal  family. 
I'm  ready  to  pitch  into  the  Fenians  on  any 
proper  occasion,  and  all  that. 

But  somehow  this  didn't  seem  to  me  to 
be  the  proper  occasion.  It  was  not  a  Fe- 
nian that  I  saw.  It  was  an  elderly  gentle- 
man ;  so  sensitive,  that  but  a  few  minutes 
before  he  had  been  struggling  with  his 
tears ;  so  lion-hearted,  that  now  he  drew 
himself  up  and  faced  a  roaring,  howling 
mob  of  enemies — calmly,  unflinchingly — 
hurling  desperate  defiance  at  them.  And 
was  that  the  sort  of  thing  that  I  could 
stand  ?  What !  to  see  one  man  attacked 
by  hundreds — a  man  like  that,  too — an  old 
man,  alone,  with  nothing  to  sustain  him  but 
his  own  invincible  pluck  ?  Pooh  !  what's 
the  use  of  talking  V  I  am  an  officer  and  a 
gentleman,  and  as  such  it  would  have  been 


A  FENIAN. 


40 


!i  foul  disf^rnco  to  inc  if  I  hail  been  capable 
of  standing  tlieru  quietly  and  looking  at  the 
old  man  at  the  Tnurcies  of  the  mob. 

]5ut,  a^^  it  liapiion^d,  I  did  nothing  of  the 
kind. 

On  the  contrary,  I  sprang  forward  and 
stood  by  the  side  of  the  old  man. 

"  Now,  look  here — you  fiOlows  I  "  I  roared 
— "  this  ia  all  very  fine,  ami  wry  loyal,  but, 
damn  it  I  don't  it  strike  you  that  it's  an  in- 
fernally cowardly  thing  to  i)iteh  into  an  old 
man  in  this  style  ?  He  may  be  a  Tenian, 
and  he  may  bo  Old  Xiek  himself,  but  he's 
never  done  you  fellows  any  harm.  What 
the  devil  do  you  mean  by  kieking  \\[i  sueh 
a  row  as  this?  You  touch  him,  if  you 
dare,  that's  all !  You  sec  my  uniform,  and 
you  know  what  I  am.  I'm  a  liobtai!.  This 
man  is  my  friend.  He's  going  out  with  me, 
and  I'd  like  to  see  the  lellow  that  will  stop 
us." 

That's  the  first  speech  I  ever  made  in  my 
life,  and  all  that  I  can  say  is,  that  it  was 
wonderfully  sueecssful.  Demosthenes,  and 
Cieero,  and  the  Karl  of  riiatham,  and  Hurke, 
and  Mirabeau,  all  rolled  into  one,  coiddn't 
have  been  more  successful.  The  mob  rolled 
Iwck.  They  looked  aslijuned.  It  was  a 
word  of  sense  spoken  in  a  forcible  manner. 
And  that  I  take  it  is  the  essence  of  true  ora- 
tory. 

The  mob  rolled  back.  I  pave  my  new 
friend  my  arm.  lie  took  it.  The  door  was 
not  far  away.  We  started  to  go  out.  The 
people  fell  back,  and  made  way  for  us. 
.Vfter  all,  they  were  a  good-enough  lot,  and 
had  only  yielded  to  a  kind  of  panic.  All 
mobs,  I  suppose,  are  insane.  The  very 
fact  of  a  mob  involves  a  kind  of  temporary 
insanity.  I3ut  these  fellows  had  come  to 
their  senses,  and  so  I  had  no  dilfieulty  in 
making  my  way  through  thorn  along  with 
my  companion.  We  got  out  into  the 
street    without    any    difTieulty.     My  new 


friend  held  my  arm,  and  invohmtarily  made 
a  turn  to  the  right  on  leaving  the  door  of 
the  hall.  Thus  wo  walked  along,  and  for 
sonii'  time  we  walked  in  silence. 

At  length  the  silence  was  broken  by  my 
companion. 

"  Well— well— well  !  "  he  ejaculate;!— 
"  to  think  of  me,  walking  witli  a  liritish 
officer — arrum-in-arrum  !  " 

"Why  not?"  said  I. 

"  Why  not?"  said  he,  "  why  there's  iviry 
reason  in  loife.     I'm  a  Fenian." 

"  Pooh  ! "  said  I,  "  what's  the  use  of 
bothering  about  polities  ?  You're  a  man, 
and  a  confoundedly  plucky  fellow  too.  Do 
you  think  that  I  could  stand  there  and  sec 
those  asses  pitching  into  you?  Don't 
bother  about  polities." 

"An'  I  won't"  said  he.  "Rut  at  any 
rcet,  I  fecced  them.  An  Oirishnian  niver 
sirrinders  to  an  inimy.  I  fecced  them,  I  did 
— an'  I  exprisscd  meself  in  shootable  siuti- 
mints." 

The  rieh  Leiiister  accent  of  my  compan- 
ion .showed  his  nationality  more  plainly  than 
even  his  own  explicit  statement.  But  this 
did  not  at  all  lessen  the  interest  that  I  took 
in  him.  llis  sensitiveness  which  had  been 
so  conspicuous,  his  coiirage  which  had  shone 
so  brightly,  and  his  impressive  features,  nil 
combined  to  create  a  feeling  of  mingled 
regard  and  respect  for  my  new  acquain- 
tance. 

"  Dy  Jove !  "  I  cried,  "  I  never  saw  a 
phickicr  fellow  in  my  life.  There  you  were, 
alone,  with  a  mad  mob  howling  at  you." 

"  It's  meself,"  said  he,  "  that'll  nivir  be 
intimidee^ed.  Don't  I  know  what  a  mob 
is?  An'  if  I  didn't,  wouldn't  I  feece  thim 
all  the  soeme  ?  An'  afther  all  I  don't  moind 
tellin'  'joH  that  it  wasn't  disrispiet.  It  was 
only  a  kind  of  absthrnction,  an'  I  wasn't 
conscious  that  it  was  the  national  anthim, 
so   I   w.isn't.      I'd   have  stood   up,  if  I'd 


fii 


;    it 


'  f       ,'' 


50 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


i 


Tl 


knowcd  it.  But  whin  those  illvils  bt'giiu 
lecliu'  ftt  me,  I  had  to  tiait  thiin  \YitIi 
searr'in  iiiul  coiUimpt.  An'  for  me — I 
liaven't  much  toime  to  live,  Imt  wliut  I  liave 
ye'vc  seeved  for  mc." 

"Oh,  iiou.sensc,  don't  talk  aliuiit  that," 
said  I,  modestly. 

"  Sorr,"  said  he,  "  I'm  very  well  aware 
that  I'm  under  deep  obleegeetion?,  an'  I 
owe  ye  a  debt  of  grateeehood.  Conse- 
ijuintly,  I  insist  on  bein'  grcetful.  I  hold 
iviry  British  ofliccr  as  me  personal  inimy ; 
but,  in  you,  sorr,  I'm  sinsiblc  of  a  ginirous 
fi'ind.  Ye've  seeved  me  Juife,  so  yc  have, 
an'  there's  no  doubt  about  it.  We'll  weeve 
politics.  I  won't  spake  of  the  Finiuns. 
I'h.nylira  O'llalloran  isn't  the  man  that'll 
mintiou  ousaisouable  politics,  or  dwell  upon 
uncongainal  thames,  so  he  isn't." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  Mr.  O'llalloran,  since 
you've  introduced  yourself,  I  must  give 
you  uiy  humble  address.  I'm  Lieutenant 
Macrorie." 

"Maerorio?"  said  he. 

"  Macrorie,"  said  I,  "  of  the  Bobtails, 
and  I  assure  you  I'm  very  happy  to  make 
your  acquaintance." 

We  walked  along  arm-in-arm  in  the  most 
friendly  manner,  chatting  about  things  in 
general.  I  found  my  companion  to  be  very 
intelligent  and  very  well  informed.  He  had 
travelled  much.  He  expressed  himself 
fluently  on  every  subject,  and  though  his 
brogue  was  conspicuous,  he  was  evidently 
a  gentleman,  and  very  well  educated  too. 
I  gathered  from  his  conversation  that  he 
had  studied  at  Trinity  College,  Dublin,  and 
that  he  had  been  leading  a  desultory  sort 
of  life  in  the  United  States  for  twenty  years 
or  so.  lie  had  been  in  Canada  for  some- 
thing less  than  a  year,  and  was  anxious  to 
get  back  to  a  more  southern  clime. 

Chatting  thus,  and  arm-in-arm,  we  walked 
along.     I  had  nothing  to  do,  and  so  I  went 


with  my  new-found  friend,  with  a  vague  idea 
of  seeing  him  safe  home.  Of  course  such 
an  idea  was  preposterous,  for  he  could  h.ive 
got  home  just  as  well  without  me,  but  I 
hud  taken  a  fancy  to  my  new  accpiaintance, 
and  found  a  strange  charm  in  his  conversa- 
tion, lie  talked  incessantly  and  on  many 
subjects.  He  discoursed  on  theology,  lite- 
rature, science,  the  w;eather,  the  army,  the 
navy,  music,  painting,  sculpture,  photog- 
rajiliy,  engraving,  geology,  chemistry,  and 
on  a  thousand  other  arts  and  sciences,  in 
al!  of  which  he  showed  himself  deeply 
ver.?ed,  and  far  beyond  my  depth.  He  had 
a  brogue,  and  I  had  none,  but  as  for  intel- 
lectual attainments  I  was  only  a  child  in 
comparison  with  him. 

At  length  we  reached  a  house  where  he 
stopped. 

"  I'm  infecnetcly  obloiged  to  ye,"  said 
he.  "And  now,  won't  ye  koindly  condi- 
scind  to  step  in  and  parteek  of  me  hospi- 
talitee?     It'll  give  me  shuprame  deloight."' 

After  such  an  invitation  what  could  I 
say  ?  I  had  nothing  to  do.  Accordingly, 
I  accepted  it  in  a  proper  spirit,  and,  thank- 
ing him  for  his  kind  invitation,  I  went  in 
along  with  him. 

O'llalloran  led  the  way  in.  It  was  a 
comfortable  house.  The  parlor  which  we 
entered  was  large,  and  a  huge  grate  filled 
with  blazing  coals  ditfused  a  cheerful  glow. 
Magazines  and  periodicals  lay  on  the  table. 
Pictures  illustrative  of  classical  scenes  hung 
round  the  walls,  done  in  the  old-fashioned 
style  of  lino  engraving,  and  representing 
such  subjects  as  Mutius  Scffivola  before 
Porsenna ;  Belisarius  begging  for  an  obo- 
lus  ;  ^Eneas  carrying  his  father  from  Troy  ; 
Leonidas  at  Thcrniopylie ;  Coriolanus  quit- 
ting Rome  ;  Uamilear  making  the  boy  Han- 
nibal swear  his  oath  of  hate  against  Rome ; 
and  others  of  a  similar  character.  O'llal- 
loran made  me  sit  in  a  "sleepy-hollow" 


■i    ! 

.  ( 

1 

i 

1 

i 

PI 


11 


'At' 


I  . 


n 

i 

■  I! 


''I  Ti 


rii 


Leedies,'   said   O'Halloran,    '  allow   me   to   inthrojuice   to  ye   Captain   Macrorie.'  " — pugu  'ol. 


n, 


THE  O'lIALLOKAN  LADIES. 


51 


-f^Sj 


m 


m 


rp. 


^.~s 


oasy-chnir  by  tlio  fiic  Dcaiilo  mo  were  Iwo 
huge  book-slielves  cniniinod  with  licioks.  A 
{rlance  at  tlicin  !^hoH(yl  ine  tliiit  tluy  wcri- 
largely  of  u  classioal  order.  Loiij^iiiiis, 
.Ki-i'liyhia,  Di'iiiostlicncs,  Diiitlorr,  I'luto, 
Stallljaum— such  wcro  the  naniejt  tliut  I 
.=aw  ill  gilt  letters  on  the  backs  of  the  vol- 
umes. 

About  the  room  there  was  that  air  of 
mingled  comfort  and  refinement  tliat  is 
alway.'S  puggc.^live  of  tlio  presenoe  of  ladii  a. 
A  work-basket  stood  beside  the  table.  And 
on  a  little  Cliinese  table  in  a  corner  lay  some 
croehct-work.  I  took  in  all  these  things  at 
a  glance  and  while  my  host  was  talking  to 
me.  After  a  time  he  excused  himself  and 
said  that  he  would  call  the  "leedies."  He 
retired,  leaving  me  alone,  and  striving  to 
picture  to  myself — 

CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  o'llALLOra.N  L.MIIKS. — THEIR  APrE.vn- 
ANCE. — TllEIll  AGES. — TUKIU  DIIESS. — TIIEIU 
DEMEANOR. — TIIEIU    Cl'LTlltE,   POLISH,    EDU- 

CATios,   i;ank,   style,  attainments,  and 

ALL   ADOrT  THEM. 

"Leepies,"  said  O'llalloran,  "allow  mc 
to  inthrojuice  to  ye  Captain  Macrorie,  an 
officer  an'  a  gintleniin,  an'  when  I  stcet 
that  he  sceved  me  life  about  a  half  an  hour 
ago,  ye'll  see  what  siniiiuints  of  gratee- 
chood  are  his  jew." 

With  these  words  O'llalloran  entered  the 
room,  followed  by  two  ladies  whom  he  thus 
introduced,  giving  my  name  to  them,  l)ut  in 
the  abstraction  of  the  moment  not  mention- 
ing their  names  to  me. 

The  ladies  greeted  me  with  smiles,  which 
at  once  threw  a  new  charm  over  this  very 
comfortable  room,  and  seated  themselves 
opposite  on  tie  other  side  of  the  fire,  so  that 
I  had  the  be>t  view  of  them  possible. 


Ami  now  the  very  first  glance  that  I  <\h. 
tained  of  these  ladies  showed  me  that  I  had' 
hit  upon  a  wonderful  piece  of  pood  luck 
wlien  I  went  to  that  concert  and  met  my 
new  friend  O'llalloran.  P'or  in  beauty  of 
face,  grace  of  figure,  refinement  of  man- 
ner ;  in  every  thing  that  affects  an  impressi- 
blc  man — and  wlmt  man  is  not  impressi- 
ble?— tlie.se  billies  were  so  far  beyond  nil 
others  in  Quebec,  that  no  comparison  could 
be  made.     The  I'urton  girls  were  nowhere. 

The  elder  of  the  two  might  have  been — 
no  matter — not  over  twenty-three  or  four 
at  any  rate ;  while  the  younger  was  certain- 
ly not  over  eighteen  or  nineteen.  There 
was  a  good  deal  of  similarity  in  their 
styles  ;  both  were  brunettes  ;  both  had 
nbundanceof  dark,  lustrous  hair ;  both  had 
those  dark,  hazel  eyes  which  can  send  such 
a  thrill  to  the  soul  of  tlio  imprcssillle.  For 
my  part  I  thrilled,  I  glowed,  I  exulted,  I  re- 
joiced and  triuniiihed  in  tlie  adventure 
which  had  led  to  such  a  discovery  as  thi-;. 
Were  there  any  other  women  in  Canada,  in 
America,  or  in  the  world,  cipial  to  them  ? 
I  did  not  believe  there  were.  .\nd  then 
their  voices — low — sweet — musical — voices 
which  spoke  of  the  cxiiuisitc  refinement  of 
perfect  breeding  ;  those  voices  would  have 
been  enough  to  make  a  man  do  or  dare  any 
thing. 

IJetwecn  them,  however,  there  were  some 
differences.  The  elder  hail  an  expression 
of  good-natured  content,  ami  there  was  in 
her  a  vein  of  fun  which  was  manifest,  while 
the  younger  seemed  to  have  a  nature  which 
was  more  intense  and  more  earnest,  and 
there  was  around  her  a  certain  indefinable 
reserve  and  hnuteur. 

Which  did  I  admire  most? 

I  declare  it's  sinijily  impossible  to  say. 
I  was  overwhelmed.  I  was  crushed  with 
equal  admiration.  My  whole  soul  became 
instinct  with    the    immortal    sentiment — 


^7T 


ll 


I  • 


5i 


TILi;   LADY    OV  Till;   UK. 


"  how  Imppy  could  I  bo  with  titlur ; " 
wliili'  the  conliiility  of  my  rici'|)tioii,  wliii'h 
luiiili'  nil)  111  oiR'u  a  IViciul  of  tlii.s  jowul  of 
»  t'aiiiily,  caurfL'il  my  8ituutiou  to  asHuinu  bo 
(leliciouH  an  n.fpect  llmt  it  was  positively 
bi;tviliic'riii<;. 

O'llalloraii  liailii't  iiietUioncd  tiioir  iimiio.'', 
Iiiit  the  iiaiiR'.s  (toon  caiiiL-  out.  Tliey  wero 
(•viiicMitly  liis  ilaii^litur.s.  Tlu;  nmno  of  liie 
eldt'.Hl  I  found  wuH  Nora,  and  tlic  name  of 
tlie  younj,'i'r  was  Marion.  Tin;  old  gL'ntle- 
luaii  was  lively,  and  (^ave  a  liiglily-draniatii- 
account  of  the  aflair  at  tlie  concert,  in 
which  he  rcprcscnti'd  my  cooduct  iu  the 
nioift  glowing  light.  The  ladies  'istcncd  to 
all  this  with  undisguised  agitation,  inter- 
rupting him  frequently  with  anxious  ({ues- 
tioii.-',  and  regarding  my  hund)le  self  as  a 
Boit  of  a  hero.  All  this  was  iu  the  highest 
tlegree  encouraging  to  a  susceptible  mind  ; 
and  I  ■•oon  found  myself  .sliding  otl'  into  an 
e.isy,  a  frank,  an  tloiiuent,  and  a  very  de- 
lightful eonver.sation.  Of  the  two  ladies, 
tlio  elder  .Miss  O'llalloran  took  the  chief 
share  in  that  lively  yet  intellectual  inter- 
course.  Marion  only  put  In  a  word  occa- 
.jionally  ;  and,  though  very  amiable,  j^till  did 
not  show  80  much  cordiality  as  her  sister. 
But  Miss  O'llalloran  '.  what  wit !  what 
sjiarklo  !  what  mirth  I  uhat  fun  I  what 
repartee!  what  culture  1  what  refi:iemenl  I 
w  hat  an  acquaintance  w  ilh  the  world !  what 
a  knowledge  of  nicu  and  things!  what  a 
faidtless  accent !  what  indescribable  grace 
of  manner  !  what  a  generous  and  yet  lady- 
like Innnor  !  what  a  merry,  musical  laugh  ! 
what  (luickness  of  apprehension  !  what 
acutcnes.s  of  perception  I  what — words  fail, 
imagine  every  thing  that  is  delightful  in  a 
first-rate  conversationalist,  and  every  thing 
that  is  fascinating  in  a  lady,  and  even  then 
yon  will  fail  to  have  a  correct  idea  of  Miss 
O'llalloran.  To  have  such  an  idea  it  would 
be  ueceasary  to  see  her. 


.Marion  on  the  other  hand  was  quiet,  as  * 
have  Said.  I'erhaps  this  arose  from  a  relU 
cenee  of  disposition  ;  or  perhaps  it  was 
merely  the  result  of  lur  pd.-liiou  as  a 
younger  sister.  Her  beautiful  face,  with 
Its  calm,  self-poised  expression,  was  turned 
toward  us,  and  she  listened  to  all  that  was 
said,  and  at  times  a  smile  like  a  sunbeam 
would  (lash  over  her  lovely  features  ;  but 
it  was  only  at  times,  when  a  direct  appeal 
was  niadi'.  to  her,  that  she  woidd  sjieak,  ami 
then  her  words  were  few,  though  quiti'  to 
the  point.  I  had  not,  therefore,  a  fair 
chance  of  comparing  her  with  Miss  O'llal- 
loran. 

In  their  accent  there  was  not  the  .^light- 
cst  sign  of  that  rich  I.einster  brogue  which 
was  so  apparent  in  their  father.  This, 
however,  may  have  arisen  from  an  Knglish 
mother,  or  an  Knj.'li:-h  eilneation.  SnlTicc 
it  to  say  that  in  no  respect  coidd  they  bo 
distingnishcil  from  I'nglish  ladies,  except  in 
a  certain  vivacity  of  manner,  which  in  tho 
latter  is  not  connnon.  O'llalloran  was  evi- 
dently a  gentleman,  and  his  house  showed 
that  he  was  at  least  in  comfortable  cireum- 
j  stances.  What  his  l)usiness  now  might  lie 
I  could  not  tell.  What  his  past  had  been 
was  equally,  uncertain.  Was  he  an  exiled 
Young  Irelander  ?  Had  ho  been  driven 
from  his  home,  or  had  ho  left  it  volun- 
tarily ?  Whatever  ho  was,  his  surround- 
ings and  his  behmgings  showed  unmistak- 
able signs  of  eidture  and  refinement ;  and 
as  to  his  daughters,  why,  hang  it  I  a  peer 
of  the  realm  couldn't  have  shown  more 
glorious  specimens  of  perfect  womanhood 
than  these  which  smiled  on  me  in  tliat 
pleasant  parlor. 

Meanwhile,  as  I  flung  myself  headlong 
into  a  lively  conversation  with  Miss  O'llal- 
loran, the  old  gentleman  listened  for  a  time 
and  mule  ocea-sional  remarks, but  at  length 
relapsed  into  himself,  and  after  some  mia- 


THE  DAILY  r.M'ER. 


68 


iiti'-i  of  tliouglit  ho  roaclicil  out  Iiim  Iminl 
ftiid  drew  from  iiniong  the  pi'iiodifalH  Iving 
on  flie  tabli' — 


CIIAI'TKU   XVI. 
r  11 K   II A  1 1,  Y    1'  A  r  r.  n . 

"  IIy  the  powiTs !  "  sudilonly  intcrniptod 
the  i1c(>p  voice  of  O'llallornn,  brcakinj;  in 
upon  our  lively  mid  dt'liL'litful  eonvprsmion. 

At  wiiieli  wo  all  starteil  as  tliDU^'h  wo 
liiid  been  shot. 

"  liy  the  pipers  ! "  continued  O'llalloran, 
nfter  some  lic:<itati<)n.  ''  To  tliiiik  of  any- 
body thryin'  to  erosa  llio  livor  on  the  "d  ! 
Why,  that  WHS  tlie  dee  of  the  brcck-up." 

At  these  words  I  started  in  new  astonish- 
mont,  and  for  a  moment  didn't  know  wliat 
in  the  world  to  make  of  it  all.  As  for  the 
ladies,  they  diiln't  say  a  word.  I  ilidn't 
notice  them,  in  fact ;  1  had  turned  and  was 
lookinfj;  at  O'llalloran. 

"  Soo  here,"  said  he.  "  Did  you  ever 
hear  the  loikes  of  this  ?  '  /'mil  Verrlcr  of 
ChamUhe  lift  his  home  on  the  '3tl  of  Etpril 
laxt,  to  convet'  a  Ivtihj  to  Qiiificc  acrom  the 
oiir  ;  '  "  and  he  read  straiirht  through  the 
very  advertisement  which  1  had  written  and 
inserted  in  that  very  paper. 

AVhat  my  emotions  were  at  that  moment 
it  is  dilTieult  to  describe.  At  first  I  felt  sur- 
prise, ihfu  I  experieneed  a  sense  of  trininph 
at  this  striking  proof  of  the  success  which 
my  advertisement  had  met  with,  but  finally 
I  had  occasion  to  feel  emotions  which  were 
very  difTcrent  from  either  of  these.  I  had 
turned  as  O'llalloran  began  to  read  those 
familiar  words,  and  after  he  had  finished 
I  mechanically  settled  myself  into  my  for- 
mer position,  partly  because  of  the  comfort 
of  the  thlnjr,  and  partly  to  see  how  perfectly 
impartial  hearers  like  these  ladies  would 
listen   to    'his  composition  of  mine.      My 


chief  feelinp  waaT>rec!sc!y  the  same  as  ani- 
mates the  artist  who  standfl  itirotjnlto  beside 
his  picture,  to  listen  to  the  remarks  of  spec- 
tators ;  or  the  oulhor  who  hunts  throupli 
papers  to  reail  the  criticism  on  his  first 
book.  This,  it  is  true,  was  neither  a  pic- 
ture nor  a  book,  nor  was  I  either  an  artist 
or  an  author,  yet,  after  all,  this  advertise, 
ment  was  a  literary  cnbrt  of  mine,  and, 
what  is  more,  it  was  the  first  one  that  had 
iippeared  in  print.  Was  it  any  wonder, 
then,  that  for  these  reasons  I  felt  curious 
to  MO  the  ell'ect  of  that  advertisement  ? 

Now,  as  I  turned,  1  was  in  expectation  of 
some  sign  of  feeling  on  the  part  of  the  la- 
die^ — call  it  surprise;  call  it  sympathy; 
call  it  what  you  will — but  I  certainly  was 
not  prepared  for  that  very  peculiar  and  very 
markeil  clfect  which  my  liumble  elTort  at 
composition  produced  on  them. 

For  there  they  sat — Marion  erect  and 
rigid,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  her  sister,  and 
her  hanil  raised  in  an  attitude  of  warning; 
and  Miss  O'llalloran,  in  the  same  fixed  atti- 
tude, looked  eagerly  at  Marion,  her  eyes 
wide  open,  her  lips  parted,  and  one  of  her 
hands  also  half  raised  in  the  involuntary 
expression  of  amazement,  or  the  mechan- 
ical suggestion  of  secrecy.  Jliss  O'llallo- 
ran's  emotion  was  not  so  strong  as  that 
of  Marion,  but  then  her  nature  was  more 
placid,  and  the  attitude  of  each  was  in  full 
accordance  with  their  respective  characters. 

They  sat  there  in  that  attitude,  altogether 
unconscious  of  mo  and  of  my  gaze,  with 
deep  emotion  visible  on  their  faces,  and  un- 
mistakable, yet  why  that  emotion  should  be 
caused  by  that  advertisement  I  could  not 
for  the  life  of  me  imagine. 

"Well,"  said  O'llalloran,  "what  do  yc 
think  of  that  now  ?  Isn't  that  a  spicimin 
of  thrue  Canajin  grade  ?  The  man  threw 
his  loife  away  for  a  few  pince." 

As  O'llalloran  spoke,  the  ladies  recovered 


54 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


1^ 


!    ,  I 


tlit'ir  prc3cnce  of  luiiid.  Tlioy  started. 
Miss  O'Halloran  saw  my  oyes  fixiul  on  her, 
flushcJ  up  a  liltle,  ami  looked  uway.  As 
fur  -Marion,  .she  too  ,s:iw  my  look,  but,  in- 
stead of  turning  licr  eyes  away,  she  fixed 
thcni  on  mo  for  an  instant  witli  a  strange 
anl  most  intense  g;ize,  wliieb  seemed  to 
sjiiing  from  her  dark,  solemn,  lustrous 
eyes,  and  pierce  me  through  and  through. 
But  it  was  only  for  an  instant.  Then  her 
eyes  fell,  and  there  remained  not  a  trace 
of  their  past  excitement  in  cither  of 
tlieiu. 

I  confess  I  was  utterly  confounded  at 
tlii.<.  These  two  ladies  perceived  in  that 
advertisement  of  mine  a  certain  meaning 
which  showed  that  tiiey  must  have  some 
idea  of  the  cause  of  the  fate  of  the  imaj^i- 
nary  Verrier.  And  what  was  this  that  they 
knew ;  and  how  much  did  they  know  ?  Was 
it  possible  that  they  could  know  the  lady 
herself?     It  seemed  probable. 

The  idea  filled  me  with  intense  excite- 
ment, and  luaile  me  determine  here  on  the 
spot,  and  at  once,  to  pursue  my  search  after 
tiie  unknown  lady.  JJut  how  ?  (hie  way 
r.lone  seemed  possible,  and  that  was  by 
telling  a  simple,  unvarnished  tale  of  my 
own  actual  adventure. 

This  decision  I  reaehe'l  in  little  more 
than  a  minute,  iind,  before  either  of  tlie 
ladies  had  made  a  reply  to  O'llallorun's 
last  remark,  I  answered  him  in  as  easy  a 
tone  as  I  could  assume. 

"  Oh,"  I  said,  "  I  can  tell  you  all  about 
that." 

"  You ! "  cried  O'Halloran. 

"  You  !  "  cried  Miss  O'Halloran. 

"You!"  criid  Marion,  and  she  and  her 
sister  fixed  their  eyes  upon  me  with  un- 
mistakable excitement,  and  seemed  to 
anticipate  all  that  I  might  be  going  to 
say. 

This,  of  course,  was  all  the  more  favor- 


"  YoH  !  "  cried    { 


able  to  my  design,  and,  seeing  such  imme- 
diate success,  I  went  on  headlong. 

"  You  see,"  said  I,  "  I  put  that  notice  iu 
myself." 

O'Halloran, 
Miss  O'Halloran, 
_  Marion, 
this  time  in  gi-eater  surprise  than  before. 

"  Yes,"  said  I.  "  I  did  it  because  I  was 
very  anxious  to  trace  some  one,  and  this 
appeared  to  be  the  way  that  was  at  oneo 
the  most  certain,  and  at  the  same  time  the 
least  likely  to  excite  suspicion." 

"  Suspicion  ?  " 

"Yes — for  the  one  whom  I  wished  to 
trace  was  a  lady."   ' 

"A  lady!"  said  O'Halloran.  "Aha! 
you  rogue,  so  that's  what  ye'er  up  to,  is  it  ? 
An'  there  isn't  a  word  of  truth  in  this  about 
Verrier?" 

"  Yes,  there  is,"  said  I.  "  Ho  was  really 
drowned,  but  I  don't  know  his  name,  and 
Paul  Verrier,  and  the  disconsolate  father, 
I'ierre,  are  altogether  imaginary  names. 
Hut  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it." 

"  He  dad,  an'  I'd  bo  glad  if  ye  would,  for 
this  exorjium  sthrikes  me  as  the  most  schu- 
piiidous  bit  of  sehamin  that  I've  encouii- 
thered  for  a  mouth  of  Sundays." 

While  I  was  saying  this,  the  ladies  did 
not  utter  a  single  syllable.  Hut  if  they 
were  silent,  it  was  not  from  want  of  inte- 
rest. Their  eyes  were  fixed  on  mine  as 
though  they  were  bound  to  mo  by  some 
(icwerful  spell;  their  lips  j)arted,  and,  in 
their  intense  eagernces  to  hear  what  it  was 
that  I  had  to  say,  they  did  not  pretend  to 
conceal  their  feelings.  Miss  O'Halloran 
was  seated  in  an  arm-chair.  Her  left  arm 
leaned  upon  it,  anil  her  hand  meehanieally 
pressed  her  forehead  os  she  devoured  me 
with  her  gaze.  Marion  was  seated  on  a 
common  chair,  and  sat  with  one  elbow  on 
the  table,  her  hands  clasped  tight,  her  body 


THE   DAILY  PAPEII. 


55 


thrown  slij^htly  forward,  ami  Iut  eyes  fixed  i 
on  mine  with  an  intensity  of  gaze  that  was 
really  euiburraHsing. 

And  now  all  tliis  convinced  me  that  they 
must  know  all  about  it,  and  eniholdoncd 
me  to  go  on.  Now  was  the  time,  I  felt,  to 
press  my  search — now  or  never. 

So  I  went  on — 

"t'ontlcnerc  omnea,  liitcntlquo  orn  tciu'linnt 
Imlo  tore  Sandy  Mucrorlc  hIc  orsus'  ab  altn ; 
Infaudum,  Itugliia,  Jubc8  rcuovare  dolorein."- 

That's  about  it.  Rather  a  hackneyed 
(juotation,  of  co\irsc,  b\it  a  fellow  like  me 
isn't  supposed  to  know  niueli  about  Latin, 
and  it  is  uncommonly  appropriate.  And,  I 
tell  you  what  it  is,  since  ..Eneas  entertained 
1  )ido  on  that  memorable  occasion,  tw  fel- 
lows have  had  such  na  audience  as  that 
which  gathered  round  nie,  as  I  sat  in  tliat 
hospitable  parlor,  and  told  about  my  adven- 
ture on  the  ice. 

Such  an  audience  was  enough  to  stimu- 
late any  man.  I  felt  the  !>tiinuhH.  I'm 
not  generally  considered  fluent,  or  good  at 
description,  and  I'm  not  much  of  a  talker; 
but  all  that  I  ever  lacked  on  ordinary  occa- 
sions I  made  amemlrt  for  on  that  evening. 
I  began  at  the  beginning,  from  the  time  I 
was  ordered  olT.  Then  I  led  my  spellboinid 
atidicnce  over  the  criind)liiig  ice,  till  the 
sleigh  came.  Then  I  indulgc<l  in  a  thrill- 
ing description  of  the  runaway  horse  and 
the  lost  driver.  Then  I  portrayed  the  lady 
floating  in  a  sleigh,  and  my  reseue  of  her. 
Of  course,  for  manifest  reasons,  which  every 
gentleman  will  appreciate,  I  didn't  bring 
myself  forward  nxne  prominently  than  I 
could  help.  Then  foliowed  that  journey 
over  the  ice,  the  passage  of  the  ieo-ridgo, 
the  long,  intermimible  march,  the  fainting 
lady,  the  broad  channel  near  the  shore, 
the  white  gleam  of  the  ice-cone  at  Mont- 
morency,   my    wild    lop,    and    my    mad 


dash    up   the    bank   to    the    Frenchman's 
house. 

I'p  to  this  moment  my  audience  sat,  as  I 
have  l)cfore  remarked,  I  think,  simply  spell- 
bound. O'llalloran  was  en  one  side  of 
mo,  with  his  chin  on  his  breast,  and  his 
eyes  glaring  at  me  from  beneath  his  bushy 
eyebrows.  Marion  sat  rigid  and  motion- 
less, with  her  brands  clasped,  and  her  eyes 
fixed  on  the  floor.  Miss  O'llalloran  never 
took  her  eyes  ofl"  my  face,  l)Ut  kept  them 
on  mine  as  though  they  were  riveted  there. 
At  times  she  started  nervously,  and  shifted 
her  position,  and  fidgeted  in  her  chair,  but 
never  did  she  remove  her  eyes.  Once, 
when  I  came  to  the  time  when  I  led  my 
companion  over  the  iee-ridge,  I  saw  a  shud- 
der pass  through  her.  Once  again,  when  I 
came  to  tliat  moment  when  my  companion 
fainted,  Marion  gave  a  kind  of  gasp,  and  I 
saw  Miss  O'llalloran  reach  out  her  hand, 
and  clasp  iln-  clinched  hands  of  her  si.ster; 
but  with  these  exceptions  there  was  no 
variation  in  their  attitude  or  manner. 

And  now  I  tuned  my  harp  to  a  lighter 
strain,  which  means  that  I  proceeded  to 
give  an  account  of  my  journey  after  the 
doctor,  his  start,  my  slundjcrs,  my  own 
start,  our  meeting,  the  doctor's  wrath,  my 
pursuasions,  our  journey,  our  troid)les,  our 
arrival  at  the  house,  our  final  crushing  dis- 
appointment, the  doctor's  brutal  raillery, 
my  own  mcek.irss,  and  our  final  return 
home.  Then,  without  mentioning  .Jack- 
Handol|di,  I  explained  the  object  of  the 
advertisement — 

"  8ic  Pandy  Mae rorio,  Intontlii  nmiiiliup,  nnns 
Kata  riMinrnilmt  DIvQm,  cureusqae  doccbat, 
Cdntteull  tandem—" 

[Hack  Latin,  of  course,  but   then,  you 
know,  if  one  docs  tpiote  Latin,  that  ia  the 
only  sort  that  can  be  understood  by  the 
I  general  reader.] 


m 


'n 


56 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


The  conclusion  of  my  story  imHluccd  a 
marked  eflect.  O'llallorau  rousi'il  liim:<eir, 
and  sat  erect  with  a  smile  on  his  fuco  and 
a  gcod-natured  twiuiiie  in  Lis  eyes.  Miss 
O'llallorau  lonered  licr  eyes  and  held  down 
her  head,  and  once,  when  I  rciielied  that 
point  in  my  story  where  the  bird  was  flown, 
she  absolutely  lauj;hed  out.  Marion's  sol- 
cain  and  beautiful  face  also  underwent  a 
change.  A  softer  expression  came  over  it ; 
she  raised  her  eyes  and  fixed  them  with 
burning  intensity  on  mine,  her  hands  re- 
laxed the  rigid  clas|)  with  whieh  they  had 
held  one  another,  and- she  settled  herself 
iuto  an  easier  position  in  her  chair. 

"  Well,  be  jrkers ! "  exclaimed  old  Hallo- 
ran  when  I  had  concluded,  "  it  bates  the 
wurruld.  What  a  lucky  dog  ye  are !  Ad- 
vintures  come  tumblin'  upon  ye  dee  aftlier 
dee.     But  will  ye  ivir  foind  the  lecdec  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head. 

'■I'm  afraid  not,"  said  I,  disconsolately. 
'*I  put  out  that  advertisement  with  a  faint 
hope  that  the  lady's  sympathy  with  the  un- 
fortunate driver  might  lead  her  to  make 
herself  known." 

At  this  point  the  ladies  rose.  It  was 
getting  late,  and  they  bade  adieu  and  re- 
tiretl.  Marion  went  out  rather  abrui)tly, 
Mis&  O'llallorau  rather  slowly,  and  not 
without  a  final  smile  of  bewitching  sweet- 
ness. I  was  going  too,  but  O'llallorau 
would  not  think  of  it.  lie  ileclared  that 
the  evening  was  just  begun.  .Vow  that  the 
ladies  were  gone  we  would  have  the  field  to 
ourselves.  lie  assured  me  that  I  had  noth- 
ing in  particular  to  do,  ami  niiglit  easily  wait 
and  join  him  in  "  somethin'  warrum." 

CHAPTER   XVII. 
"  g  0  M  E  T  n  I  N '  w  A  n  n  r  M ." 

I  MUST  say  I  was  grievously  disappointed 
at  the  departure  of  the  ladies.     It  was  late 


enough  iu  all  conseiencc  for  such  a  move, 
but  the  time  had  passed  (juickly,  and  I  was 
not  aware  how  late  it  was.  Besides,  I  had 
hoped  that  something  would  fall  from  thcni 
which  would  throw  light  on  the  great  mys- 
tery. But  nothing  of  the  kind  occurred. 
They  retired  without  saying  any  thing  more 
than  the  commonplaces  of  social  life.  What 
made  it  worse  was,  the  fact  that  my  story 
iiad  produced  a  tremendous  eU'ect  on  both 
of  them.  That  could  not  be  concealed. 
They  evidently  knew  something  about  the 
lady  whom  I  had  rescued ;  and,  if  they 
chose,  they  could  put  me  in  the  way  of  dis- 
covery. Tlicn,  in  Heaven's  name,  why 
didn't  they  ?  Why  did  they  go  oflf  in  this 
style,  without  a  word,  leaving  me  a  prey  to 
suspense  of  the  worst  kind  ?  It  was  cruel. 
It  was  unkind.  It  was  ungenerous.  It  was 
unjust.     It  was  unfair. 

One  thing  alone  remained  to  comfort  and 
encourage  me,  and  that  was  the  recollection 
of  Miss  O'llalloran's  bewitching  smile.  The 
sweetness  of  that  smile  lingered  in  my  mem- 
ory, and  seemed  to  give  me  hope.  I  would 
see  her  again.  I  would  ask  her  directly, 
and  slio  would  not  have  the  heart  to  refuse. 
Marion's  graver  face  did  not  inspire  that 
confident  hope  which  was  caused  by  the 
more  gi'uial  and  sympathetic  manner  of  her 
spriglitly  elder  sister. 

Such  were  my  thoughts  after  the  ladies 
had  taken  their  departure.  But  these 
thoughts  were  soon  interrupted  and  di- 
verted to  another  channel.  li'IIaUorau 
rang  lor  a  servant,  and  ordered  up  what 
he  called  "  somethin'  warrum."  That  some- 
thing soon  appeared  in  the  shape  of  two 
decanters,  a  kettle  of  hot  water,  a  sugar- 
bowl,  tumblers,  wine-glasses,  spoons,  and 
several  other  things,  the  list  of  which  was 
closed  by  pipes  and  tobacco. 

O'llallorau  was  beyond  a  doubt  an  Irish- 
man, and  a  patriotic  one  at  that,  but  for 


"  SOMETIIIN'   WARRUM." 


57 


"  somcthin'  wnrr>iiu  "  he  evidently  preferred 
Scotch  whiskey  to  tliat  wliidi  is  produced 
on  the  Emerald  Sod.  IJi-nralh  the  benign 
influences  of  this  draii},'ht  he  became  more 
confidential,  and  I  grew  more  serene.  We 
sat.  We  quailed  tlie  fragrant  draught.  We 
inhaled  the  cheerfid  nicotic  fuiucs.  We  be- 
came fVieiuily,  comnuinicalive,  sympathetic. 

O'llalloran,  however,  was  more  talkative 
than  1,  and  consequently  had  more  to  say. 
If  I'm  not  a  pood  talker,  I'm  at  least  an 
excellent  listener,  and  that  was  all  tliat  my 
new  friend  wanted.  And  so  he  went  on 
talking,  (luitc  indillcrent  as  to  any  answers 
of  mine;  and,  as  I  always  prefer  the  ease 
of  listening  to  the  drudgery  of  talking,  we 
were  both  well  satisfied  and  mutually  de- 
lighted. 

First  of  all,  O'llallnran  wiis  simply  fes- 
tive, lie  talked  much  about  my  advctiture, 
criticised  it  from  various  points  of  view,  and 
gayly  rallied  me  about  the  lost  "  gyerrul." 

From  a  consideration  of  my  circumstan- 
ces, he  wandered  gradually  away  to  his  own. 
lie  lamented  his  present  position  in  Quebec, 
which  place  he  found  insuflerably  dull. 

"I'd  lave  it  at  wanst,"  bo  said,  "if  I 
wern't  deteened  here  by  the  deems  of 
jewt3'.  Hut  I  foind  it  dull  beyond  all  ex- 
prission.  Me  only  occnpeetion  is  to  walk 
about  the  sthraits  and  tliroy  to  preserve  the 
altichood  of  a  shuparior  baying.  I'ut  I'm 
getting  overwarrun  an"  toired  out,  an'  I'm 
longing  for  the  toinic  whin  I  can  bid  ajoo  to 
the  counthry  with  its  Injins  an'  Canajians." 

"  I  don't  see  what  you  can  find  to  annise 
yourself  with,"  said  1,  sympathetically. 

"Oh,"  said  he,  "  I  have  vcerious  pur- 
shoots.  I've  got  nie  books,  an'  I  foind 
iniployniint  an'  amusemint  with  thim." 

And  now  he  began  to  enlarge  on  the 
theme  of  his  books,  and  ho  went  on  in 
this  way  till  he  lieeame  eloiiuent,  enthu- 
siastic, anil  glorious.    He  qualTed  the  limpi'l 


and  transparent  litiuid,  and  its  insinuating 
influences  inspired  him  every  moment  to 
nobler  flights  of  fancy,  of  rhetoric,  and  of 
eloquence.  He  began  to  grow  learned.  lie 
discoursed  about  the  Attic  drama ;  the  cam- 
paigns of  IIaimil)al ;  the  manners  and  cus- 
toms of  the  I'artliiaiis ;  the  doctrines  of 
Zoroaster;  the  wars  of  llcraclius  and  Chos- 
roes ;  the  Ommiades,  the  Abbasides,  and  the 
Fatimitcs ;  the  Comneni ;  the  Talcologi ;  tho 
writings  of  Siiorro  Sturlesson;  the  round 
towers  of  Ireland;  the  I'lnrnician  origin  of 
the  Irish  people  proved  by  illustrations  from 
I'lautus,  and  a  hundred  other  things  of  a 
similar  character. 

"  And  what  are  you  engaged  upon  now  ?" 
I  asked,  at  length,  as  I  found  myself  fairly 
lost  amid  the  multiplicity  of  subjects  which 
he  brotight  forward. 

"  Engctged  upon?"  he  exclaimed,  ''well 
— a  little  of  iviry  thing,  but  this  dec  I've 
been  liusy  with  a  rayconsthruction  of  the 
scholastic  thaorit-s  rilitiv'  to  the  jurcerion 
of  the  diluge  of  Juceelion.  Have  ye  ivir 
perused  the  thrailises  of  the  ("hubiugen 
school  about  the  Xoachic  diluge  ?  " 

"  Xo." 

"  Well,  ye'll  find  it  moighty  foinc  an'  in- 
sthrnctivc  raidin'.  Ibit  in  addition  to  this, 
I've  been  investigatin'  the  subject  of  may- 
dyayvil  jools.''^ 

". Tools?"  I  repeated,  in  an  imbecile 
way. 

"  Yis,  jools,"  said  O'llalloran,  "  the  orjil, 
ye  know,  the  weeger  of  battle." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  I,  as  a  light  burst  in 
upon  me  ;  "  duels — I  unilerstand." 

"  Hut  the  chafe  subject  that  I'm  engeeged 
upon  is  a  very  diUcrent  one,"  he  resumed, 
taking  another  swallow  of  the  oft-replen- 
ished draught.  "  It's  a  thraitise  of  moino 
by  which  I  ixpict  to  npsit  the  thaoriea  of 
the  miserable  Saxon  schayiners  that  dcsthort 
tlie  plcon  facts  of  antiquetce  to  shoot  their 


wr 


THE  LADY  OF  TUE  ICE. 


f 


I 


own  narrow  an'  distliort'nl  coiuprayliiiisions. 
An'  I  till  yc  what — wliiii  my  thraitisc  id 
publisheil,  it'll  make  a  cliumult  among  thim 
that'll  convulse  the  lithorary  wurruld." 

"  What  lA  your  treatise  about?  "  I  asked, 
dreamily,  for  I  only  half  coniprchundcd  him, 
or  rather,  I  didn't  comprehend  Lira  at 
all. 

"Oh,"  said  he,  "its  a  foinc  subject  in- 
toirely.  It's  a  thraitisc  rilitiv'  to  the  Aydi- 
podayan  Ipopaya." 

"  What's  that  ?  "  I  asked.  "  The 
what  ?— " 

"  The  Aydipodayan  Jpopaya,"  said  O'llal- 
loran. 

"  The  Aydipodayan  Ipopaya  ?  "  I  repeat- 
ed, in  a  misty,  foj,'gy,  and  utterly  woe-be- 
gone  manner. 

"Yi<,"  said  he,  "an'  I'd  like  to  have 
your  opinion  about  that  same,"'  saying 
which,  he  once  more  filled  his  oft-replen- 
ished tumblor. 

It  wa3  too  much.  The  conversation  was 
getting  beyond  my  depth.  I  liad  followed 
liim  in  a  vague  and  misty  way  thus  fir,  but 
tliis  Aydipodayan  Ipopaya  was  an  obstacle 
which  I  could  not  in  any  way  surmount.  I 
halted  short,  full  in  front  of  that  insur- 
mountable obstacle.  So  far  from  sur- 
mounting it,  I  couldn't  even  pretend  to 
have  the  smallest  idea  what  it  was.  I  could 
not  get  over  it,  and  therefore  began  to  think 
of  a  general  retreat. 

I  rose  to  my  feet. 

"  Ye" re  not  going  yit  ? "'  he  said. 

"  Yes,  but  I  am,"  said  I. 

"Why,  sure  it's  airly  enough,"  said  he. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  it's  early  cnougli,  but 
it's  early  the  wrong  way.  It's  now,"  said 
I,  taking  out  my  watch,  "just  twenty  min- 
utes of  four.     I  must  be  olT— really." 

"  Well,"  said  O'llalloran,  "I'm  sorry  yc'rc 
going,  but  you  know  best  what  you  must 
do," 


"  And  I'm  sorrier,"  said  I,  "  for  I've 
spent  a  most  delightful  evening." 

"  Sure  an'  I'm  glad  to  Lear  ye  say  that. 
And  ye'U  come  again,  won't  ye? " 

"  Nothing  would  give  me  greater  pleas- 
ure." 

"  Come  to-morrow  night  thin,"  said  he. 

"  I  shall  be  only  too  happy,"  said  I ;  and 
w=th  those  words  I  took  my  departure. 

i  went  Lome,  and  went  to  bed  at  once. 
But  I  lay  awake,  a  prey  to  many  thoughts. 
Those  thoughts  did  not  refer  to  O'llalloran, 
or  to  his  Aydipodayan  Ipopaya.  On  the 
cont'.'ary,  they  referred  altogether  to  the 
ladies,  and  to  the  manner  in  which  they 
had  heard  my  narrative. 

What  was  the  meaning  of  that  ? 

Ami  my  speculations  on  this  passed  on 
even  into  my  dreams,  and  thus  carried  mo 
away  into 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

THE    FOLLOWISO      MOItMNO. .VPrEAKANCE    OF 

JACK    l!AM>OI.rlI. A    SEW   COMl'LICATIOS. 

TIIK   THREE  ORANGES. — DESPEUATE    EFrORT.S 

OF  TUE    jraoLEr^ — now  to   make   fill, 

AMPLE,   COMPLETE,  ANO   MOST   S.VTISFAfTOtlY 

EXPLANATIONS. MISS  PHILLIPS  '. — THE  WID- 

OW  !  ! — NIMDER  THREE  1 1  '. — LOIIE  RAPIDLT 
RISINO  INTO  GREATER  PROMINENCE  ON  THE 
MENTAL  AND  SENTIMENTAL  HORIZON  OF  JACK 
RANDOLPH. 

"  Well,  old  chap,"  cried  Jack,  as  ho 
burst  into  my  room  on  the  following  morn- 
ing, "  what  the  mischief  were  you  tloing 
with  yourself  all  last  niglit  •  Come,  out 
with  it.  Xo  humbug.  I  w^s  here  at  twelve, 
lighted  up,  and  smoked  till — yes — I'll  be 
hanged  if  it  wasn't  half-past  two.  And 
you  didn't  come.  What  do  you  mean,  my 
pood  fellow,  by  that  sort  of  thing  ?  " 


M'lli 


A  NEW  COMPLICATION. 


59 


IS  ho 
norn- 

(lilt 
llvO, 

I  lie 
Ami 


"  Oh,"  said  I,  meekly,  "I  was  passing  the 
crvcniug  willi  a  friend." 

"  The  evening !     The  night  you  mean." 

"  Well,  it  was  rather  late,"  said  I.  "  The 
fact  is,  wo  got  talking,  and  I  was  telling 
him  about  my  adventure  on  the  ice.  We 
had  bei'n  at  the  concert  first,  and  then  I 
went  with  him  to  hia  quarters.  Dy-tbe- 
way,  why  weren't  you  there?  " 

In  this  dexterous  way  I  parried  Jack's 
<lueslion,  for  I  did  not  fuel  inclined  Just  yet 
to  return  his  confidence.  I  am  by  nature, 
as  the  reader  must  by  this  time  ha»-e  seen, 
uncommonly  reticent  and  reserved,  and  I 
wasn't  going  to  pour  out  my  story  and  my 
feelings  to  Jack,  who  would  probably  go 
o>  i  tell  it  everywhere  before  the  close  of 
the  day. 

"  The  concert ! "  cried  Jack,  contemptu- 
ously— "  the  concert !  My  dear  boy,  arc 
you  mad  ?  What's  a  concert  to  me  or  I  to 
A  concert  ?  A  concert  ?  My  dear  fellow, 
what  kind  of  an  idea  have  you  formed  of 
me,  if  you  think  that  I  am  capable  of  tak- 
ing part  in  any  festive  scene  when  my  soul 
is  crushed  under  such  an  accumulated  bur- 
den of  fuss  and  bother  ?  " 

"  What,  are  you  bothered  still  ?  ITaven't 
you  begun  to  see  your  way  through  the 
woods  ?  " 

"  See  my  way  ?  "  cried  Jack.  "  Why,  it's 
getting  worse  and  worse — " 

"  Worse  ?  I  thought  jou  had  reached 
the  worst  when  you  were  repulsed  by  Louie. 
What  worse  thing  can  happen  than  that  ? 
Weren't  all  your  thoughts  on  death  intent  ? 
Didn't  you  repeat  your  order  for  a  grave- 
stone ? " 

"  True,  old  boy  ;  very  correct ;  but  then 
I  was  just  beginning  to  rally,  you  know, 
and  all  that,  when  down  cornea  a  new  both- 
er, and,  if  I  weren't  so  uncommonly  fruitful 
in  rexourco,  this  day  would  have  Sfcn  an 
end  of  Jack  Randolph.     I  sec  you're  rather 


inclined  to  chall'  mc  about  the  gravestone, 
but  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  JIacrorie,  if  this 
sort  of  thing  continues  you'll  bo  in  for  it. 
I've  pulled  through  this  day,  but  whetiier  I 
can  pull  through  to-morrow  or  not  is  a  very 
hard  thing  to  say." 

At  this  Jack  struck  n  match,  and  sol- 
emnly lighteil  his  pipe,  which  all  this  time 
ho  had  been  filling. 

"  Ton  my  word,  old  chap,"  said  I,  "  you 
seem  bothered  again,  and  cornered,  and  all 
that.  What's  up?  Any  thing  new?  Out 
with  it,  and  pour  it  into  this  sympathetic 
ear." 

Jack  gave  about  a  dozen  .solemn  pufTj. 
Then  he  removed  his  pipe  with  his  left 
hand.  Then  with  his  right  hand  he  stroked 
his  brow.  Then  ho  said,  glowly  and  im- 
pressively : 

"  She's  here  !  " 

"  She  ! "  I  repeated.  "  What  she  ? 
Which?     When?     How?" 

"Miss  Phillips!"  said  Jack. 

"  Miss  Phillips  !  "  I  cried.  "  Miss  Phil- 
lips !  Why,  haven't  you  been  expecting 
lier?  Didn't  she  write,  and  tell  you  that 
she  was  coming,  and  all  that?" 

"  Yes;  but  then  you  know  I  had  half  an 
idea  that  something  or  other  would  turn 
up  to  prevent  her  actual  arrival.  There's 
many  a  slip,  you  know,  'tween  cup  and  li|\ 
How  did  I  know  that  she  was  really  com- 
ing ?  It  didn't  seem  at  all  probable  that 
any  thing  so  abominably  embarrassing 
should  be  added  to  all  my  other  embnrras!- 
ments.'' 

"Probable?  Why,  my  dear  fellow,  it 
seems  to  me  the  most  probable  thing  in  the 
world.  It's  always  so.  Misfortunes  never 
ccmic  single.  Don't  you  know  that  they 
always  come  in  clusters  ?  But  come,  tell 
me  all  about  it.  In  the  first  place,  you've 
seen  her,  of  course  ?  " 

"  C>h,  of  course.    I  heard  of  her  arrival 


f 


m 


00 


THE  LADY   OF  THE  ICE. 


J    !! 


yostordny  inoni,  and  wont  olT  nt  once  to 
call  on  her.  Ilor  reception  of  nic  was  not 
very  flattering.  Siie  was,  in  fact,  most  con- 
foundedly cool.  But  yon  know  my  way. 
I  felt  awfully  cut  up,  and  insisted  on  know- 
inj;  the  reason  of  all  this.  Then  it  all  came 
out." 

Jack  paused. 

"Well,  what  was  it?" 

"  Why,  confound  it,  it  seems  that  she  had 
been  here  two  days,  and  had  been  expecting 
me  to  come  every  moment.  \ow,  I  ask 
you,  Maororie,  as  a  friend,  wasn't  that 
rather  hard  on  a  fellow  when  he's  trying 
to  do  the  very  best  he  can,  and  is  over 
head  and  cars  in  all  kinds  of  difficulties  ? 
You  know,"  he  continued,  more  earnestly, 
"  the  awful  bothers  I've  had  the  last  few 
days.  Why,  man  alive,  I  iiad  only  just  pot 
her  letter,  and  hadn't  recovered  from  the 
shock  of  that.  And  now,  while  I  was  still 
in  a  state  of  bewilderment  at  such  unex- 
pected news,  here  she  comes  herself!  Ami 
then  she  begins  to  pitch  into  me  for  not  call- 
ing on  her  before." 

"  It  was  rather  hard,  I  nuist  confess," 
said  I,  with  my  never-failing  sympathy ; 
"and  how  did  it  all  end?" 

Jack  heaved  a  lieavy — a  very  heavy — 
Bigh. 

"  Well,"  said  ho,  "  it  ended  all  right— 
for  the  time.  I  declared  that  I  had  not 
expected  her  until  the  following  week ; 
and,  when  she  referred  to  certain  passages 
in  her  letter,  1  told  her  that  I  had  misun- 
derstood her  altogether,  which  was  the  sol- 
emn fact,  for  I  swear,  Maerorio,  I  really 
didn't  think,  even  if  she  did  come,  that 
shi''d  be  here  two  or  three  days  after  her 
letter  came.  Two  or  three  days — why, 
hang  it  all,  she  must  have  arrived  here  the 
very  day  I  got  her  letter.  The  Utter  must 
have  come  through  by  land,  and  she  came 
by  the  way  of  Portland.    Confound  those 


abominable  mails,  I  say !  What  business 
have  those  wretched  postmasters  to  send 
their  letters  through  the  woods  and  snow  ? 
Well,  never  mind.     I  made  it  up  all  right." 

"  All  right  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  I  explained  it  all,  you  know. 
I  cleared  up  every  thing  in  the  compktcst 
way.  In  fact,  I  made  a  full,  ample,  intelli- 
gible, and  perfectly  satisfactory  explanation 
of  the  whole  thing.  I  showed  that  it  was 
all  a  mistake,  you  know — that  I  was  hum- 
bugged by  the  mails,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing,  you  know.  So  slic  relented,  and  we 
made  it  all  n\\  and  I  took  her  out  driving, 
and  we  had  a  glorious  time,  though  the 
roads  were  awful — perfect  lakes,  slush  no 
end,  universal  thaw,  and  all  that.  liut  we 
did  the  drive,  and  I  jiromised  to  go  there 
again  io-day.'' 

"  And  did  you  call  on  the  widow  ? "' 

"  Oh,  yes ;  but  before  I  went  there  I  had 
to  write  a  letter  to  Number  Three." 

"  Number  Three  !  You  must  have  had 
your  hands  full  ? " 

"  Hands  full  ?  I  should  think  I  had,  my 
boy.  You  know  what  agony  writing  a  let- 
ter is  to  me.  It  took  me  two  hours  to  get 
through  it.  You  8ce  I  had  written  her  bo- 
fore,  reproaching  her  for  not  running  ofT 
with  me,  and  she  had  answered  mo.  I  got 
her  answer  yesterday  morning.  She  wrote 
back  a  repetition  of  her  reas(m  for  not 
going,  and  pleaded  her  father,  who  she  said 
would  go  mad  if  she  did  such  a  thing.  I!e- 
twecn  you  and  me,  Maerorio,  that's  all  bosh. 
The  man's  as  mad  as  a  March  hare  now. 
But  this  wasn't  all.  What  do  you  think? 
She  actually  imdertook  to  haul  me  over  the 
co.als  about  the  widow." 

"  What !  has  she  heard  about  it?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  Didn't  I  tell  you  before  that 
she  kept  the  run  of  mo  pretty  closely  ? 
Well,  she's  evidently  heard  all  about  mo 
and  the  widow,  and  accordingly,  after  a 


!,i 


A  NEW  COilPLICATIOX. 


01 


brief  txplnnation  about  her  father,  she  pro- 
ceeded to  walk  into  mo  about  the  widow. 
Nov,  tliiit  was  auoiliiT  shoek.  You  see,  tiic 
fact  is,  1  pitelieil  into  lier  first  for  tiiis  very 
reason,  and  thouglit,  if  I  began  the  attaek, 
she'd  have  to  take  up  a  strietl}'  defensive 
altitude.  15ut  she  wa3  too  many  guns  for 
me.  No  go,  my  boy.  Not  witli  Number 
Three.  She  dodged  my  blow,  and  then 
sprang  at  me  herself,  and  I  found  myself 
thrown  on  my  defen«ie.  So  you  see  I  had 
to  write  to  her  at  once." 

Jack  sighed  heavily,  and  quafl'ed  some 
IJass. 

"  But  how  the  nii:iehief  eould  you  hamlk' 
such  a  subject  V  Two  hours  !  I  should 
think  so.  For  my  part,  I  don't  see  how 
you  managed  it  at  all." 

"  Uh,  I  got  through,"  said  Jack.  "  I  ex- 
plained  it  all,  you  know.  I  cleared  up 
every  thing  in  the  eompletest  way.  In 
fact,  I  made  a  full,  perfect,  intelligible,  aui- 
ple,  and  satisfactory  explanation — " 

"  Oh,  that's  all  downright  bosh  now,  old 
boy,"  I  interrupted.  "  How  could  you  ex- 
plain it  ?    It  can't  be  explained." 

"Dut  I  did  though,"  said  Jack.  "I 
don't  remember  how.  1  only  know  the  let- 
ter struck  me  ai  just  the  thing,  and  I 
dropped  it  into  the  post-office  when  on  my 
way  to  the  widow's." 

"  The  widow's  ?  " 

"  Yes,  as  soon  as  I  finished  the  letter, 
I  hurried  off  to  the  widow's." 

"  By  Jove  !  "  I  cried,  aghast.  ''  So  that's 
the  style  of  thing,  is  it  ?  Look  here,  old 
man,  will  you  allow  me  to  ask  you,  in  the 
mildest  manner  in  the  world,  bow  long  you 
consider  yourself  able  to  keep  up  this  sort 
of  thing  ?  " 

"  Allow  you  ?  Certainly  not.  No  ques- 
tions,  old  chap.  I  don't  question  myself, 
and  I'll  be  hanged  if  I'll  let  anybody  else. 
I'm   among   the   breakers.      I'ui   whirling 


down-stream.  I  have  a  strong  sense  of 
the  aptnesi  of  Louie'.s  idea  about  the  jug- 
gler and  the  or.mges.  But  the  worst  of  it 
is,  I'm  beginning  to  lose  eouGdcnee  in  my- 
self." 

And  Jack  leaned  his  head  back,  and  sent 
out  a  long  lieani  of  smoke  that  flew  straight 
up  and  idt  the  ceiling.  A  fter  which  he  stared 
at  me  in  unutterable  solemnity. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  go  on.  What  about 
the  widow  ?  " 

"  The  widow — oh — when  I  got  there  I 
fouml  another  row." 

"  Another  V  " 

"  Ye.^,  another — the  worst  of  all.  But 
by  this  time  I  had  grown  used  to  it,  and  I 
was  as  serene  as  a  mountain-lake." 

"  But — the  row — what  was  it  about  ?  " 

"  Oh,  .the  had  heard  about  my  engage- 
ment to  .Miss  riiillip--,  and  her  arrival  ;  so 
she  at  once  began  to  talk  to  me  like  a 
father.  The  way  she  questioned  me — why 
the  Grand  hnjuisitor  is  nothing  to  it.  But 
she  didn't  make  any  thing  by  it.  You  see 
I  took  up  the  Fabian  tactics  and  avoided  a 
direct  engagement." 

"  How's  that  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  wouldn't  ansv.-er  her." 

"  How  could  you  avoid  it  ?  " 

"  Pooh  ! — easy  enough — I  sat  and  chaffed 
her,  and  laughed  at  her,  and  called  her  jeal- 
ous, and  twitted  her,  no  end.  Well,  you 
know,  at  last  she  got  laughing  herself,  and 
we  made  it  all  up,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
you  know  ;  still,  she's  very  pertinacious, 
and  even  after  we  made  up  she  teased  and 
teased,  till  she  got  an  explanation  out  of 
me."' 

"  An  oxiilanation  !    What,  another  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes — easy  enough — I  explained  it 
all,  you  know.  I  cleared  up  every  thing 
perfectly.  I  made  an  ample,  intelligible, 
full,  frank,  and  thoroughly  satisfactory  ex- 
planation of  the  whole  thing,  and — " 


i    : 


w 


I 


UJ 


Tin:  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


i 


m 


"  What,  nj^aia  ?  Haiif,'  it,  Jack,  don't  re- 
peat yoursoir.  Tliis  is  Ibc  third  time  that 
jou'vo  repeated  those  worda  verbatim" 

"  l9  it  ?  Did  I  ?  Odd,  too.  Fact  is,  I 
believe  I  made  up  tliat  sentence  for  m_v 
letter  to  Xuinbcr  Three,  and  I  suppose  I've 
got  it  by  heart.  At  any  rate,  it's  all  right. 
You  see  I  had  three  explanations  to  make, 
and  they  all  had  to  be  full,  frank,  ample, 
?;Ui»r«ett)ry,  and  all  the  rest  of  those  words, 
you  know.  But  it's  awfully  h.ird  work.  It's 
wearing  on  the  constitution.  It  destroys 
the  nervous  system.  I  tell  you  what  it  is, 
old  chap — I'm  serious.— if  this  sort  of  thing 
is  to  go  on,  hang  it,  I'll  die  of  exhaustion." 

"  So  that  was  the  end  of  your  troubles 
for  that  day  ?  " 

"  Well— yea — but  not  the  end  of  my  day. 
I  got  away  from  the  widow  by  c'ight  o'clock, 
and  then  trotted  over  to  Louie." 

"  Louie  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Louie.     Why,  man — why  not  ?  " 

"  What,  after  the  late  mitten  ?  " 

"  Mitten  ?  of  course.  What  do  you  sup- 
pose I  care  for  that  ?  Isn't  Louie  the  best 
friend  I  have  ?  Isn't  she  my  only  comfort  ? 
Doesn't  she  give  magnificent  advice  to  a 
fellow,  and  all  that  ?  Louie  ?  Why,  man 
alive,  it's  the  only  thing  I  have  to  look  for- 
ward to !  Of  course.  Well,  you  see,  Louie 
was  luckily  disengaged.  The  other  girls 
were  at  whist  with  their  father  and  the 
aunt.     So  I  hail  Louie  to  myself." 

"  I  hope  you  didn't  do  the  sentimental 
again." 

"Sentimental?  Hood  Lord!  hadn't  I 
been  overwhelmed  and  choked  with  senti- 
ment all  day  long?  f-entiment?  Of  all 
the  bosh — but  never  mind.  Louie  at  least 
didn't  bother  mc  in  that  way.  Yes,  it's  a 
fact,  Macrorie,  she's  got  an  awful  knack  of 
giving  comfort  to  a  fellow." 

"  Comfort  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  can't  exactly  explain  it." 


"  I  suppose  she  was  very  sad,  and  sym- 
pathetic, and  all  that.  -Vt  any  rate,  she 
didn't  know  the  real  trouble  that  you'd 
been  having  ?  " 

"Didn't  she,  though?" 

"  Xo,  of  course  not ;  how  could  she  ?  " 

"  ^^^ly,  she  began  questioning  me,  you 
know." 

"  Questioning  you  ?  " 

"  Yes — about — the  three  orangca,  you 
know." 

"  Well,  and  how  did  you  manage  to  fight 
her  off?" 

"  Fight  her  off?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Why,  I  couldn't." 

"Couldn't?" 

"  \o." 

"  Nonsense !  A  fellow  that  could  baffle 
the  widow,  wouldn't  have  any  trouble  in 
baffling  Louie." 

"  Oh,  that's  all  very  well ;  but  you  don't 
know  the  peculiar  way  she  goes  to  work. 
She's  such  an  awful  tease.  And  she  keeps 
at  it  too,  like  a  good  fellow." 

"  Still  you  were  safe  from  her  by  reason 
of  the  very  fact  that  your  daily  adventures 
were  things  that  you  could  not  tell  her." 

"  Couldn't  I,  though  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not." 

"  I  don't  see  why  not." 

"  Impossible." 

"  But  I  <//</."i 

"  You  did  ?  " 

"  I  did." 

"  To  Louie  ? " 

"  Yes,  to  Louie." 

Again  my  thoughts  and  feelings  found  ex- 
pression in  a  whistle. 

"  You  see,"  resumed  Jack,  "  she  badg- 
ered and  questioned,  and  teased  and  teased, 
till  at  last  she  got  it  all  out  of  me.  And 
the  way  she  took  It!  Laughing  all  the 
time,  the  provoking  little  witch,  her  eyes 


w 


A  NEW  COMPLICATION. 


C3 


(liiiicingwilh  fun,  and  hor  soul  In  a  perfect 
ecstasy  over  my  Horrow.'?.  I  wuh  (iiiict  at 
first,  but  nt  length  got  hiiHy.  You  see  if 
she  cared  for  a  fellow  she  ought  to  pity  hhn 
instead  of  laughing  at  him." 

"  liut  slie  doesn't  pretend  to  caro  for  you 
— imd  lucky  for  her  too." 

"  That's  true,"  sai.l  Jack,  dolefully. 

"  But  what  did  bIiu  say  about  it  ?  " 

"Say?  Oh,  she  teased  atul  tea.scd,  and 
thou  when  she  had  pumped  mc  dry  she  burst 
out  into  one  of  her  fits — and  then  I  got 
luifl'y — and  she  at  once  pretended  to  be 
very  demure,  the  little  sinner,  tliough  I  saw 
her  eyes  twinkling  with  fuu  all  the  time. 
And  at  last  she  burst  out : 

"  '  Oh,  Captain  Itundolph  !  You're  so 
awfully  absurd.  I  can't  help  it,  I  must 
laugh.  Xow  ain't  you  awfully  funny  ? 
Confe.s.s.  Please  confess,  Captain  Ran- 
dolph. Plc-e-e-ease  do,  like  a  good  Captain 
lUndolph.  Ple-c-e-e-c-e-e-e-e-e-c-c-c-ense ! ' 
'  "So  my  grim  features  relaxed,  and  I 
looked  benignly  at  her,  whereupon  she 
burst  out  laughing  again  in  my  face. 

"  '  Well,  I  can't  helj)  it,  I'm  sure,'  she 
said.  '  You  do  look  so  droll.  You  try 
to  make  me  laugh,  and  I  laugh,  and  can't 
help  it,  and  then  you  blame  ine  for  doing 
the  very  thing  you  make  me  do,  and  I 
think  it's  a  shame — there,  now.' 

"  Whereupon  she  began  to  pout,  ond 
look  hurt,  and  so,  you  know,  I  had  to  go 
to  work  and  explain  to  her." 

"  What !  not  another  explanation,  I  hope. 
A  'full,  frank,  free,  fresh,  ample,'  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing,  I  suppose." 

"  Oh,  bother,  chatT!  I'm  in  earnest.  I 
merely  explained  that  I  didn't  take  any 
ofl'eneefrom  her  laughter,  but  that  I  thought 
that  if  she  cared  for  a  fellow  she  wouldn't 
laugh  at  him. 

" '  But,  I  never  said  I  cared  for  you,'  said 
she. 


" '  Oh,  well — you  know  what  I  mean — 
you're  my  friend,  you  know,  and  my  only 
comfort,'  said  I. 

"  At  this  she  went  oW  again. 

"  '  Well,  then,'  said  I,  '  what  are  you  ?  ' 

"  She  sat  and  thought. 

"  '  Well,'  said  she, '  I  won't  be  your  friend, 
for  that's  too  cold ;  I  won't  be  your  sister, 
for  that'.s  too  familiar.  Let  mo  see — what 
ought  I  to  bo?  I  can't  be  your  guardian,  for 
I'm  too  volatile — what,  then,  can  I  be  ?  Oh, 
I  see!  I'll  tell  you,  Captain  Randolph,  what 
I'll  be.  I'll  pretend  that  I'm  your  aunt. 
There,  sir.' 

" '  Well,  then,'  said  I,  '  my  own  dear 
aunt.' 

" '  Xo.  That  won't  do — you  are  always 
abs\ird  when  you  growatl'eetionate  or  senti- 
mental. You  may  call  me  aunt — but  no 
sentiment.' 

"  « Well,  Aunt  Louie.* 

"She  demurred  a  little,  but  finally,  I 
gained  my  point.  After  this  she  gave  mo 
some  good  advice,  and  I  left  and  came 
straight  to  you,  to  find  your  room  empty." 

"Advice?  You  said  she  gave  you  ad- 
vice ?     What  was  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  she  advised  me  to  get  immediate 
leave  of  absence,  and  go  home  for  a  time. 
I  could  then  have  a  breathing-space  to 
decide  on  my  future." 

"Capital!  Why,  what  a  perfect  little 
trump  Louie  is !  Jack,  my  boj',  that's  the 
very  thing  you'll  have  to  do." 

Jack  shook  his  head. 

"Why  not?" 

He  shook  his  head  again. 

"  Well,  what  did  you  say  to  Louie  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  told  her  that  it  was  impossible. 
She  insisted  that  it  was  the  very  thing  I 
ought  to  do,  and  wanted  to  know  why  I 
wouldn't.  I  refused  to  tell,  whereupon  she 
began  to  coax  aiul  tease,  and  tease  and 
coax,  and  so  the  end  of  it  was,  I  told  her." 


II 


04 


TUE  LADY  OK  TlIK  ICE. 


il 


"  What  was  it  ? " 

"  Why,  I  told  her  I  coiihhi't  tliink  of  go- 
ing  awny  where  I  couhhi't  sec  her;  that  I 
woulil  luivc  Mown  my  liraina  out  l)y  tlii* 
tirao  if  it  worcii'tlorliiT;  uuJ  that  I'lllilow 
my  brains  out  wlion  I  went  home,  if  it 
weren't  for  tlie  liopo  of  seeing  lier  to-mor- 
row.'' 

"The  devil  you  did!"  said  I,  dryly. 
"  What !  after  being  mittened  ?  " 

"  Tea,"  said  Jack.  "  It  was  on  my  mind 
to  say  it,  and  I  said  it." 

"  And  how  did  Louie  take  it  ?  " 

"  Xot  well.  She  Jooked  coolly  at  me,  and 
said : 

" '  Captain  Randolph,  I  happened  to  be 
speaking  sensibly.  You  seemeil  to  be  in 
earnest  when  you  asked  for  my  opinion, 
and  I  gave  it.' 

'"  And  I  was  in  earnest,'  I  said. 

" '  How  very  absurd  ! '  said  she.  '  The 
fable  of  the  shepherd-boy  who  ciicd  vrolf, 
is  nothing  to  you.  It  seems  to  be  a  fixed 
habit  of  yours  to  go  al>out  to  all  the  young 
ladies  of  your  aciiuaiutanco  threatening  to 
blow  your  lirains  out.  Now,  in  getting  up 
a  sentiment  for  my  bcnetit,  you  ought  at 
least  to  have  been  original,  and  not 
give  to  mc  the  same  second-hand  one 
whicli  you  had  already  sent  to  Number 
Three.' 

"  She  looked  so  cold,  that  I  felt  fright- 
ened. 

"'You're — you're— not  offended?'  said 
I.    '  I'm  sure — ' 

"'Oh,  no,'  said  she,  interrupting  me; 
'  I'm  not  offended.  I'm  only  disappointed 
in  you.  Don't  apologize,  for  you'll  only 
make  it  worse.' 

"  '  Well,'  said  I,  '  I'm  very  much  obliged 
to  you  for  your  advice — but  circumstances 
over  which  I  have  no  control  prevent  me 
from  taking  it.  There — is  that  satisfac- 
tory ? ' 


"  '  yuile,'  said  Louie,  and  her  old  smile 
returned. 

"  '  Do  you  wish  mo  to  tell  you  what  the 
circumstances  are?' 

"  '  Oh,  no — oh,  don't — '  she  cried,  with  an 
absurd  affectation  of  consternation.  'Oh, 
Captain  Randolph — please.  Plc-c-e-aase, 
Captain  Randolph — don't.' 

"  i<o  I  didn't." 

"  Well,  Jack,"  said  I,  "  how  in  the  world 
did  you  manago  to  carry  on  such  conversa- 
tions when  the  rest  of  the  family  were  there  ? 
Woiddn't  they  overhear  you  ?  " 

"Oh,  no.  You  see  they  were  in  one 
room  at  their  whist,  and  we  were  in  the 
other.  Resides,  we  didn't  speak  loud 
enough  for  them  to  hear — except  occasion- 
ally." 

"  So  Louie  didn't  take  offence." 

"  Oh,  no,  wo  made  it  up  again  at  once. 
She  gave  me  a  beaming  smile  as  I  left. 
I'll  see  her  again  this  evening." 

"  And  the  others  through  the  day  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Jack,  with  a  sigh. 

"Miss  Phillips?" 

"  Of  course — and  then  I  get  a  note  from 
Number  Three,  requiring  an  immediate  an- 
swer— and  then  off  I  go  to  the  widow,  who 
will  have  a  new  grievance ;  and  then,  after 
being  used  up  by  all  these,  I  fly  to  Louie  for 
comfort  ond  consolation." 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  You're  in  for  it,  old  chap,"  I  said,  sol- 
emnly, "  and  all  that  I  can  say  is  this: 
Take  Louie's  advice,  and  flit." 

"  Xot  just  yet,  at  any  rate,"  said  Jack, 
rising ;  and  with  these  words  he  took  his 
departure. 


!^' 


mil 


O'lIALLOKAN'S  AGAIN. 


Off 


CIIAPTKR  XIX. 

O'II.ILLOIIAN'II  AIIAIN. — A  HTAIlTI.INa  nKVKLA- 
TIK.V. — THK  LAHV  ((K  TIIK  ICK. — KOI  Nil  AT 
LAST.— C'U.VITMIIIN,  KMIIAKIIASSMKNT,  IIIlTI. 
CENCE,  AND  HIIYNKSH,  HICCKEUKW  BY  WIT, 
FAHCINATIOK,  LAIOIITKIl,  AM)  WITCIIINO 
SMILK:). 

After  waitin;?  iinputiontly  all  day,  and 
beguiling  the  tiim-  in  various  wayx,  the  hour 
at  length  came  when  I  eoiild  go  to  (>' Hallo- 
ran'H.  I  confess,  my  feelings  were  of  rather 
a  tnnmltuouR  deHcription.  I  would  see  the 
ladies  again.  I  would  renew  my  endeavors 
to  find  out  the  great  mystery  of  the  iec. 
Such  were  my  intentions,  and  I  had  firm- 
ly resolved  to  make  direct  nuestions  to 
Nora  and  Marion,  and  see  if  I  couldn't  force 
them,  or  coax  them,  or  argue  them,  into 
an  explanation  of  their  strange  agitation. 
Such  an  explanation,  I  felt,  would  be  a  dis- 
covery of  the  object  of  my  search. 

Full  of  thcso  thoughts,  intentions,  and 
determinations,  I  knocked  at  O'llalloran's 
door,  and  was  ushered  by  the  servant  into 
the  comfortable  parlor.  O'llalloran  stood 
tliere  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  Nora 
was  standing  not  far  from  him.  Marion 
was  not  there;  but  O'llalloran  ond  Nora 
were  both  looking  ot  me,  as  I  entered, 
with  strange  expressions. 

O'llalloran  advanced  quickly,  and  caught 
me  by  the  hand. 

"  D'ye  know  what  yu've  done  ?  "  said  he, 
abruptly,  without  greeting  or  salutation  of 
any  kind.  "  D'ye  know  what  ye'vo  done  ? 
Ye  seeved  moy  loife  at  the  concert.  But 
are  you  oweer  what  you've  done  be- 
snides  ?'" 

He  looked  at  nic  earnestly,  and  with  so 
strange  an  expression  that  for  a  moment  I 
thought  he  must  be  mad. 
5 


"  Well,  really,"  said  I,  somewhat  con- 
fusedly, "  Mr.  O'llalloran,  I  must  confess 
I'm  not  aware  of  any  thing  in  particular," 

"He  doesn't  know!"  cried  O'llalloran. 
"  He  doesn't  know.  'Tisn't  the  sloightest 
conception  that  ho  has!  Will,  thin,  me 
boy,"  said  he— and  all  this  time  he  held  my 
hand,  and  kept  wringing  it  hard — "  will, 
thin — I've  another  dibt  of  gratiehoml,  and, 
what's  more,  one  that  I  nivir  can  raypnr. 
D'ye  know  what  ye'vo  done?  D'ye  know 
what  ye  ore  ?  No  f  AVill,  thin,  I'll  tell  ye. 
Ye're  the  secvior  of  mc  Nora,  me  darlin', 
me  prolde,  me  own.  She  was  the  one  that 
ye  seeved  on  the  oiee,  and  riscued  from  dc- 
sthruetion.  There  she  stands.  Look  at 
her.  Hut  for  you,  she'd  be  now  lost  forivir 
to  the  poor  owld  man  whose  light  an'  loifc 
an'  trisure  she  always  was.  Nora,  jewel, 
there  he  is,  as  sure  as  a  gun,  though  whoy 
he  didn't  recognoizc  ye  last  noight  passes 
moy  faible  comprayhinslon,  so  it  docs." 

Saying  this,  he  let  go  my  han<l  and  looked 
toward  Nora. 

At  this  astounding  announcement  I  stood 
simply  paralyzed.  I  stared  at  each  in  suc- 
cession. To  give  an  Idea  of  my  feelings  is 
simply  impossible.  I  must  refer  every  thing 
to  the  imagination  of  the  reader ;  and,  by 
way  of  comparison  to  assist  his  imagina- 
tion, I  beg  leave  to  call  his  attention  to  our 
old  friend,  the  thunder-bolt.  "  Had  a  thun- 
der-bolt burst,"  ond  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
Fact,  sir.  Dumbfounded.  Ily  Jove !  that 
word  even  does  not  begin  to  express  the 
idea. 

No-  'or  about  twenty  hours,  in  dreams 
as  well  as  in  waking  moments,  I  had  been 
brooding'  over  the  identity  of  the  lady  of 
the  ice,  and  had  become  convinced  that  the 
O'llalloran  ladies  knew  something  about  it ; 
yet  BO  obtuse  was  I  that  I  had  not  suspected 
that  the  lady  herself  might  be  found  in  this 
house.     In  fact,  such  an  event  was  at  once 


i^TkRI 


^i*^' 


.4 


fT^ 


00 


TIIK   l.ADY   dl'  TllK  UK. 


.<o  roniaiil'c  and  s(i  iiiipi'(il)al)l(  iliut  it  did 
imt  t'Vi'ii  HUfifrc-t  it-cir.  Hiit  now  lare  was 
the  lady  licrselC.  l\nv  .•'lie  slouil.  Now  I 
ciiuld  uiii'.c't-.-^tanil  tii(!  cniotiiiii,  the  n^itii- 
tioii,  anil  all  lliat,  of  (lit-  previous  fvcniii<;. 
Tills  would  at  oni'i'  ai'onunt  lor  it  all.  And 
licro  mIic  Ktood — the  lady  herself— and  timt 
ludy  was  no  (iihcr  than  Miss  O'llalloran. 

I!y  Jove ! 

Mi.'is  O'llalloran  looked  very  iiimh  con- 
lused,  and  very  niueli  embarrassed.  Her 
eyes  lowered  and  goucht  the  flour,  and  in 
ihU  way  she  advanced  and  looU  my  prof- 
I'erecl  hand,  'i'on  my  lil'e,  I  don't  think  I 
ever  saw  any  thing  more  beautiful  than  she 
was  as  this  eonfusioii  covered  lur  lovely 
t'iiee  ;  and  the  eyes  wliieh  tluH  avoidrd 
mine  seemed  to  my  imagination  still  more 
lovely  tiian  they  liad  been  before. 

And  this  was  the  one — I  thoiighl,  as  I 
fnok  hi'r  hand — this  was  the  one — Iheeom- 
panion  of  my  perilous  trip — the  lil'i'  that  I 
had  saved.  Yet  this  diseovery  lilled  me 
with  wonder.  This  one,  so  gay,  so  genial, 
so  laufjlitcr-loving — tlis  one,  so  glowing 
with  the  liloom  of  health,  and  the  light  of 
life,  and  tho  sparkle  of  wit — this  one!  It 
seemed  impossible.  There  swept  before  me 
on  that  instant  the  vision  of  the  iee,  that 
([Uivering  form  elinging  to  me,  that  pallid 
face,  those  desjiairing  eye.a,  that  expression 
of  piteous  and  agonizing  entreaty,  those  wild 
words  of  horror  and  of  anguish.  There 
eame  before  me  the  phantom  of  that  form 
whieh  I  had  upraised  from  the  iee  when  it 
had  sunk  down  in  lifelessness,  whose  white 
faee  rested  on  my  shoiihler  as  \  tiore  it 
away  from  the  gras|)  of  death;  and  (hat 
vision,  witli  all  its  8(demn,  tragie  awfulness 
secnieil  out  of  keeping  with  this.  Miss 
O'llalloran  ?  In)possible  !  Hut  yet  it 
must  lie  so,  .sinee  she  thus  eonfessed  it. 
5Iy  own  memory  had  been  at  fault.  The 
face  on  the  ice  which  haunted  me  was  not 


the  f.iee  that  I  saw  before  me;  but,  then, 
Mi.-s  O'llalloran  in  despair  must  have  a 
dilfercnt  faee  from  Miss  O'llalloran  in  her 
happy  and  peaceful  home.  All  tliesc 
thoughts  passeil  throu^^h  rui'  as  I  took  her 
liand  ;  but  they  hit  me  with  the  impression 
that  my  vision  was  a  ndstakc,  and  that  this 
lady  was  in  very  deed  the  companion  of  tliat 
fearful  journey. 

I  pressed  luT  hanil  in  silence.  I  could 
not  speak.  I'nder  the  pressure  of  thoughts 
and  recollections  t'.iat  came  sweeping  in 
upon  lue,  I  wasVli.id);  and  so  I  wanilercd 
away,  and  I'ell  into  a  seat.  Yet,  in  "ly  stu- 
pefaction, I  could  SCO  that  Miss  O'llalloran 
showed  an  emotion  eipial  to  mine.  Khohad 
not  spoken  a  word.  She  sat  ilown,  with  her 
eyrson  the  floor,  and  much  agitation  in  hor 
maii.ier. 

"  .Nora,  me  pet,"  said  O'llalloran,  "  haven't 
ye  any  cxprission  of  grnliehood?  " 

Miss  O'llallonui  raised  her  face,  and 
looked  at  mo  with  eanicst  eyes. 

"  Indeed — indceil,"  she  said — "  it  is  not 
from  want  of  gratitude  that  I  am  silent.  My 
gratitude  is  too  strong  for  words.  Lieuten- 
ant .Maerorio  needs  no  assurance  of  mine,  I 
know,  to  convince  him  how  I  admire  his 
!iol)!i'  conduct—" 

The  sound  of  her  voice  roused  uic  from 
my  own  abstraction. 

"Oh,  of  course,"  said  I,  "a  fellow  knows 
all  that  sort  of  thing,  yo\i  know;  and  I  feel 
so  g'ad  about  the  service  I  was  able  to 
render  you,  that  I'm  positively  grateful  lo 
you  for  being  there.  Odd,  though — wasn't 
it  ? — that  I  didn't  recognize  yuu.  Ibit  then, 
you  see,  the  fact  is,  you  looked  so  ilitlerent 
then  fi'-ni  what  you  do  now.  IJeally,  you 
seeni  like  another  person — you  <lo,  by 
Jove !  " 

At  this  Miss  O'llalloran  looked  down,  and 
seemed  embarrnsscd. 

"  Uut  what  made  you  clear  out  so  soon 


Ill 


O'lIALLORAN'S  AOAIX. 


67 


from  the  FrcndimnnV  ? "'  saltl  I,  .-'iKlilenly. 
"  You've  no  idea  liow  it  botliercil  mo.  !!y 
Jove  !  it  didn't  soi'in  nlto^ii'tlicr  fair  to  mo, 
you  know.  .\nii  tiirn  you  didn't  even  loavc 
your  ftddrcss." 

Mi.os  O'llulloran's  confusion  scomrd  to 
iacrca.'^o.  She  mnrnnirod  soiiu'tliiiif;  iihout 
liaving  to  liurry  lioine — pri'sscd  for  time — 
fenr  of  her  friends  being  anxious — and  all 
that. 

Tli'ii  I  ;i-l<c'il  her  anxiously  if  she  hail 
been  any  the  worse  for  it. 

"(»li,  no,"  slie  saiil  ;  "no  ill  eonsc- 
qucnoes  hail  resulted." 

Ily  tl\i^  time  I  had  sense  enou<.'h  to  per- 
ceive that  the  mlijeet  wa"  an  extrt'rnely  iin- 
plcnsant  one.  A  moment's  further  thou^rht 
showctl  me  that  it  couldn't  be  any  thing 
else.  rn])leas:int !  I  should  ihink  so. 
Was  it  not  suggestive  of  sorrow  and  of 
despair?  Had  she  not  witnessed  things 
which  were  never  to  be  forgotten?  Hail 
she  not  seen  her  hapless  driver  go  down 
benealli  the  iey  waters?  Had  she  not  her- 
self stood  face  to  face  with  an  nwfid  doom  ? 
Had  she  not  twice — yes,  and  thiice — tasted 
of  the  bitterness  of  death? 

"  1  beg  parclon,"  said  I,  as  these  thotights 
came  to  me — ''  it's  a  painful  subject.  I 
spoke  thonghllessly ;  l)ut  I  won't  allude  to 
it  agiiin.  It  was  bad  enough  for  me;  but 
it  must  have  lieen  infinitely  worse  tor  you. 
The  fact  is,  my  curiosity  got  tin-  bettei  of 
my  consideration  for  your  feelings." 

"  That's  thnie,"  said  (I'llallornn  ;  "  il'j  a 
pecnful  subjict." 

At  this  Misj  O'llalloran  looked  immensely 
relieved.  She  ral'<id  her  head,  and  involun- 
tarily ea-'t  upon  me  a  touehing  look  of  grati- 
tude. Yes;  it  must,  indeed,  have  been  n 
painful  suiijeet.  The  consciousness  of  this 
made  me  eagi-r  to  make  amends  for  my 
taull,and  so  I  began  to  rattle  on  in  a  lively 
strain  about  a  thousand  tidngs ;  and  Miss 


"'Halloran,  seizing  the  opportunity  thus 
liidd  out  of  casting  dull  care  away,  at  oneo 
rose  superior  to  her  eiidiarrnssnient  .ind 
confusion,  and  responded  to  my  advances 
"itli  the  utmost  liveliness  and  gayety.  Tlie 
change  was  instantaneous  nnd  markc<l.  .V 
moment  ago  she  had  been  eofitrained  and 
slilV  and  shy;  now  -he  was  gay  and  lively 
and  spirited.  This  change,  which  thus  took 
place  before  my  eyes,  served  in  some  meas- 
ure tri  explain  that  did'eretice  which  I  saw 
between  the  I.ady  of  the  Ice  an  1  MisS 
O'llalloran  in  lur  own  home. 

O'llalloran  himself  joined  in.  IIo  was 
gay,  and  genial,  and  jocose.  At  about  iiino 
o'clock  Marion  canu>  in.  She  seemed  dull 
and  distrait.  She  gave  me  a  cold  hand,  and 
then  sat  down  in  silence.  She  did  not  say 
any  thing  whatever.  She  did  not  seem  even 
to  listen,  but  sat,  with  her  head  leaning  on 
her  hand,  like  one  whoso  tlioughls  are  far 
away.  Yet  there  was  a  glory  about  li«  r 
sad  anil  melancholy  beauty  which  could  not 
but  arrest  my  gaze,  and  often  and  often  I 
found  my  eyes  wandering  to  that  face  of 
loveliness.  Twice — yes,  three  times — as  my 
gazi'  thus  wandered,  T  fouiul  her  eyes  fi.tcd 
upon  me  with  a  kind  of  eager  scrutiny — a 
fixed  intensity  which  actually  was  startling 
to  encounter.  And  strange,  vague,  wild, 
unformed  memories  aro<e,  and  odd  ideas, 
and  fantastic  suspicions.  Iler  face  became 
thuj  like  one  of  those  which  one  sees  in  a 
crowd  hastily,  and  then  loses,  only  to  rack 
his  brain  in  vain  endeavors  to  diseover  who 
the  owner  of  the  face  might  oe.  So  it  was 
with  mo  as  I  saw  the  dark  face  and  the  lus- 
trous eyes  of  Marion. 

And  now,  'pon  my  life,  I  cannot  "ay  which 
one  of  these  two  excited  the  mo*l  of  ii:y 
admiration.  There  was  Nora,  with  hor 
good-natiiro,  her  wit,  her  friendliness,  her 
witchery,  her  nice,  the  sparkle  of  her  eye, 
the   mu'^ie   of  her  laugh.     Utit  there,  too, 


FT 


68 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


was  Marion,  whose  cyc3  seeracd  to  pierce 
to  my  soul,  as  twice  or  thrice  I  caught 
their  gaze,  and  who30  face  seemed  to  have 
some  weird  influence  over  me,  pu/.zlin};  and 
bewildering  me  by  suggestions  of  auotlier 
face,  which  I  had  seen  before,  I  was  fasci- 
nated by  Nora ;  1  was  in  love  with  her ;  but 
by  Marii'U  I  was  thrown  under  a  spell. 

l>n  the  whole,  Nora  seemed  to  me  more 
sympathetic.  With  all  her  brightness  and 
joyousnesf,  there  was  also  a  strange  timid- 
ity, at  times,  and  shyness,  and  furtive  glan- 
ces. An  occasional  flush,  also,  gave  her  a 
sweet  confusion  of  manuer,  which  height- 
ened her  charms.  All  these  were  signs 
which  I  very  naturally  interpreted  in  my 
own  favor.     What  cUe  should  I  do  ? 

I  have  been  calling  her  indiscriminately 
Miss  O'H  illoron  and  Nora.  But  to  her  face 
I  did  not  call  her  by  any  name.  N'ora,  of 
course,  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  On  the 
other  hand.  Miss  O'Halloran  seemed  too  dis- 
tant. For  the  memory  of  our  past  expe- 
rience made  me  feel  very  near  to  her,  and 
intimate.  Had  we  not  been  together  on  a 
journey  where  hours  create  the  familiari- 
ties of  years  ?  Was  not  her  life  mine  ?  In 
fact,  I  felt  to  her  as  a  man  feels  when  he 
meets  the  old  flame  of  his  boyhuod.  She  is 
married,  and  has  passed  beyond  him.  But 
her  new  name  is  too  cold,  and  her  old  name 
may  not  be  used.  So  he  calls  her  nothing. 
lie  meets  her  as  a  friend,  but  docs  not  know 
how  to  name  her. 

As  we  talked,  O'Halloran  sat  there,  and 
somctime!<  listened,  and  sometimes  chimed 
in.  An  uncommonly  fine-looking  old  fel- 
low he  wa.s,  too.  Although  about  sixty,  his 
form  was  as  erect  as  that  of  a  young  unm, 
and  his  i-inewy  linil)S  gave  signs  of  great 
strength.  He  ■•:\t  in  an  easy-chiiir — his 
iron-gr.iy  hair  clustering  over  his  broad 
brow ;  his  eyes  keen,  penetrating,  but  full 
of  fun ;  his  noi-e  slightly  curved,  and  his 


lips  quivering  into  smiles  ;  small  whiskers 
of  a  vanished  fashion  on  either  check  ;  and 
small  hands — a  right  royal,  good  fellow — 
witty,  intellectuiil,  and  awfully  eccontrie — 
at  once  learned  and  boyi.«h,  but  for  all  that 
perhaps  all  the  better  adapted  for  social  en- 
joyment, and  perhaps  I  may  add  convivial- 
ity. There  was  a  glorious  flow  of  animal 
spirits  in  the  man,  which  could  not  be  re- 
pressed, but  came  rolling  forth,  expressed 
in  his  rich  Leinstcr  brogue.  He  was  evi- 
dently  proud  of  his  unparalleled  girls ;  but 
of  these  all  his  tenderness  seemed  to  go 
forth  toward  Nora.  To  her,  and  apparent- 
ly to  her  alone,  he  listened,  with  a  proud 
uilecticm  in  his  face  and  in  his  eyes ;  while 
any  little  sally  of  hers  was  always  sure  to 
be  received  with  an  outburst  of  rollicking 
laughter,  which  was  itself  contagious,  and 
Served  to  increase  the  general  hilarity. 

Hut  the  general  hilarity  did  not  extend  to 
Marion.  She  was  like  a  star,  and  sat  apart, 
listening  to  every  thing,  but  saying  noth- 
ing. I  caught  sometimes,  as  I  have  said, 
the  lustrous  gleam  of  her  eyes,  as  they 
pierced  me  with  their  earnest  gaze ;  and 
when  I  was  looking  at  Xora,  and  talking 
with  her,  I  was  conscious,  at  times,  of 
Marion's  eyes.  O'Halloran  did  not  look 
at  her,  or  speak  to  her.  Was  she  under 
a  cloud  ?  Was  this  her  usual  character  ? 
Or  was  she  sad  and  serious  with  the  press- 
ure of  some  secret  purpose  ?  Such  were 
my  thoughts  ;  but  then  I  suddenly  decided 
that  by  such  thoughts  I  was  only  making 
an  ass  of  myself,  and  concluded  that  it  was 
nothing  more  than  her  way.  If  so,  it  was 
an  uncommonly  impressive  way. 

The  ladies  retired  early  that  evening. 
Marion,  on  leaving,  gave  me  a  last  search- 
ing glance ;  while  Nora  took  leave  with  her 
mo.st  bewildering  smile.  The  glance  and 
the  smile  both  struck  home;  but,  which 
alTcctcd  inc  most,  it  is  impossible  to  say. 


"OUR  SYMPOSIUM." 


60 


CIIAPTER  XX. 

"  Orn  SYMPOSMM,"  AS  o'lIALLOUAN  CALLKD 
IT. — IllGIl  AM)  MIGIITV  IiI.><COlll.«E. — GK.V- 
EUAL  ISSrWTION  OF  ANTiyilTV  DV  A 
LK.AUNKI)  KYE. — A  DISCOlIl.^iK  IPON  THE 
"  OIONEESOIZI.N  "  OF  THE  K.SCLISH  I.AS- 
OlAGE. — IlOMKllIC  TnA.N.SLATIONS. — O'hAL- 
LOHAN  AND  BURNS. — A  NEW  EI'OCU  FOR  THE 
DROCiUE. — THE  DI.NNER  OK  ACHlLLt:S  AND 
THE  PALACE  OF  ANTINOI'S. 

The  servants  brought  us  the  generous 
preparations  for  the  evening — sugar,  spoons, 
hot  water,  tuml)lers,  anil  several  other 
things. 

O'Halloran  began  by  expressing  his  grat- 
itude, and  saving  that  Nora  could  not  speak 
on  tlie  subject.  He  hoped  I  would  see,  by 
that,  why  it  was  that  she  had  not  answered 
my  questions.  Whereupon  I  hastened  to 
apologize  lor  asking  (pU'Stions  which  so 
harshly  reminded  her  of  a  terrilde  tragedy. 
Our  mutual  explanations  were  soon  exhaust- 
ed, and  we  turned  to  subjects  in  general. 

As  our  symposium  proceeded,  O'llallornn 
grew  more  and  more  elociuent,  more  discur- 
sive,  more  learned,  more  enthusiastic.  He 
didn't  expect  me  to  take  any  part  in  the 
conversation.  He  was  only  anxious  that  I 
should  "  take  it  hot,"  and  keep  my  pipe 
and  my  tumbler  well  in  hand.  He  was  like 
Coleridge,  and  Johnson,  and  other  great 
men  who  abhor  dialogues,  and  know  noth- 
ing but  monologues. 

On  this  occasion  he  monologued  on  the 
following  subjects ;  The  Darwinian  hypo- 
thesis, the  positive  philosophy,  Protestant 
missions,  temperance  societies,  Fiehte,  Lcs- 
sing,  Hegel,  Carlyle,  nunnmies,  the  Apoca- 
lypse, MiiimonidoB,  John  Scotus  Erigcna, 
the  steam-engine  of  Hero,  tho  F^erapeium, 


War.    This  at  last  brought  him  on  the 
subject  of  Homer. 

He  paused  for  a  moment  here. 

"  D'ye  want  to  know,"  said  he, "  the  thrue 
business  of  me  loife,  an'  rac  sowl  occupcc- 
tion  y " 

I  bowed  and  gave  a  feeble  smile.  I 
thought  of  Fenian  ogencies  and  a  dozen 
other  things,  and  fancied  that  in  this  hour 
of  eonfidence  he  would  tell  all.  I  had  sev- 
eral times  wondered  why  he  lived  in  a  place 
which  he  hated  so,  and  had  a  vague  idea 
that  he  wag  some  kind  of  a  secret  cmis* 
sary,  though  there  was  certainly  not  a 
single  thing  in  his  character  which  might 
warrant  such  a  supposition. 

"  Me  object,"  said  O'Halloran,  looking 
solemnly  at  me,  "  and  the  whole  eem  of  mo 
loife  is  the  Oioneesoizin  of  the  language  of 
the  Saxon.  He's  thrust  his  language  on  us, 
an'  my  eem  is  to  meek  it  our  oun,  to  illivato 
it — an'  by  one  schtoopindous  ilhisthreetion 
to  give  It  a  pleece  among  the  letherary  doia- 
liets  of  the  wurruld." 

"  Oioneesoizin  ?  "  said  I,  slowly. 

"  Yis,  Oicmcesoizin,"  said  O'Halloran. 
"  An'  I'm  going  to  do  this  by  mains  of  a 
thransleetion  of  Homer.  For  considhcr. 
Since  Chapnuin  no  thranslection  has  been 
made.  Pope  and  Cowper  are  continiptiblc. 
Darby  is  onraydable.  (iladstone's  attimpt 
on  the  fust  buk,  an'  Mat  Arnold's  on  the 
seem,  an'  Worsley's  Spinsayrians  arc  all 
feelurcs.  Ye  see,  they  think  only  of  may- 
thers,  an'  don't  considhcr  doialicts.  Homer 
wrote  in  the  Oionie  doialiet,  an'  sluid  bo 
thranslated  into  the  modern  ayquivalint  of 
that  same." 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  said  I,  "  but  is  there  such 
an  e(iuivaient  V  " 

"  Yis,"  sold  he,  solemnly.  "  Ye  see,  tho 
Scotch  doialiet  has  been  iUivatid  into  a 
Doric  by  the  janius  of  a  Hurruns  ;  and  so 


the   Dorian    Kmigration,  and    the    Trojun  i  loikcwise  shall  the  Oirish  be  illivatid  into 


10 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


I  • 


1 


au  Oionccan  doiulict  by  the  janiusof  O'Hiil- 
loiaii. 

" Tor  Oiiish  'a  the  natunil  nn'  conjayni'al 
ripriscoiititive  of  tlic  ancioiit  < HoiK'Oan. 
It'.s  vowel-souiul.-*,  its  dii)litliiiiig!<,  hi  shu- 
porabuudincu  of  loginil^,  all  show  thiii  inoi^t 
lilconly.  So,  too,  if  wo  ajiploy  this  modern 
OincLan  to  ii  tiirausleetion  of  Homer,  we 
see  it  has  sehtoopiiuloii.s  advantages.  The 
Homeric  neemi!,  the  iiiithct.^,  and  the  vruild 
aherneetiou  of  daethyla  an'  spondees,  may 
all  be  liprisinted  boy  a  ncctive  and  eonjay- 
neal  mawher.  Take  for  ii  i^pieimiu  Hn-nii 
O'Jifillii'/hiDi.  "Twi>9  on  a  windy  niglit 
alioiii  two  o'clock  in  the  mornin.'  Tiiat  !.■* 
the  ueelive  nTHiire  of  the  diri.-'h  bards,  an' 
is  iiiiiiiiully  aiiajited  toremllier  the  Hoirierie 
swinge.  It  eon.nists  of  an  Oiambie  |iiuilii- 
milir  followed  by  a  dacthylie  thripody  ;  an' 
ill  rhythm  projuiees  the  ell'eets  of  the  dae- 
thylie  hixamitir.  t'onipeer  wid  this  the 
buUad  niayther,  an'  the  hayroie  mayiher, 
and  the  Spin.serian  stanzas,  of  Worsley,  an' 
<iladstone's  Saxon  throehaies,  and  |)arl>y'r' 
dull  ijlank  ver^e,  an'  the  litheral  prose,  an' 
Mat  Arnold's  attimpts  at  hixamcters,  an' 
Dain  somebody's  hindieasyllabics.  They're 
one  an'  all  nyi|iially  eontiiiiptible.  liul  in 
tills  neetive  oirish  loiiie  we  have  not  only 
doialictic  advantages,  but  also  an  amoc/ing 
number  of  other.'<.  It's  the  doirict  ripri- 
siiiteeiive  of  the  Homirie  loine,  fust,  in  the 
number  of  fate ;  seeiiidly,  in  the  (say.-iural 
pause ;  thirdly,  in  the  capaccetee  for  a  dac- 
tylic an'  spondaic  iiiding,  an'  fowerlhly,  in 
the  shupenibundinee  of  sonorous  ipitliits 
and  rowling  syllabeefeeeeetions.  An'  all 
this  I  can  prove  to  yo  by  spicimins  of  me 
oun  thransleetion." 

With  thir-  he  went  to  a  Davenport  at 
one  end  of  the  room,  and  l>rought  out  a 
pile  of  manuscript  closely  written.  Then 
he  seated  himself  again. 

"  I'll   raid  ye  passages  here  nn'  there," 


.said  he.  "  Th.^  fu.->t  one  is  the  reception 
of  the  imbassy  by  Aehlllcs."  Saying  thi.-*, 
he  took  thi'  manu.-^cript  and  began  to  read 
the  following  in  a  very  rich,  broaii  brogue, 
which  ntade  me  think  that  he  cultivateil 
this  brogue  of  his  purposely,  and  out  of 
patriotic  motives,  from  a  desire  to  elevate 
his  loved  Iri.«.h  dialect  to  an  c(|uality  with 
the  literary  standard  Knglish  : 

••  •  lie  f  pake    Vat  noklcs  heard,  an'  didn't  da- 

clolnefortilldolt, 
Dat  tuk  the  tnate-thray  down,  an'  into  the 

foyrc  bo  threw  It : 
A  fitiii|>c-'D  cliulne  au'  a  goat's  be  throwcd  on 

lop  of  tbc  platter. 
An'  wnu  frf)m  a  lovely  pl;^,  tlian  which  there 

wor  nivir  a  falter; 
Thn-c  OTonimeii.in  tuk,  O'Kelly  devoided 

thini  nately, 
IIo  nu-ed  mincc-matc  av  tbim  all,  an'  thin  bo 

i>I>Ute(I  thim  itwutt'ly ; 
To  kIi  h  entoicin'  fud  thfy  all  crtlnded  tUclr 

arrumf, 
Till  fnd  and  dhriiik  1olkpwl«c  had  lost  their 

jiiynial  rharrum* ; 
Tliiii  .\JHX  winked  at  PbaynIs,0'Dii>he.s  take 

note  of  It  cnyly, 
.\n'  piiwerin'  out  nonio  wolnc,  he  dbruuk  till 

thehialthovO'KWly.'" 

After  this  tie  read  the  description  of  the 
palace  of  Antinous  in  the  "  Odyssey :  " 

'• '  For  benrhns  holi;hts  ov  bra**  alch  wee  wos 

flrmmleo  butldld. 
From  the  front  dun!  till  the  back,  an'  a  nate 

blue  eorrlniii  fllkd  It  ; 
An'  there  wa^  i;owldIu  dnreo,  that   tastee 

donii'  Heenrln', 
An'  iillver  poFto  IntkewUc  that  »lld  the  hroez- 

iii"  (lure  In; 
An'  lovely  ).>owl(lln  do^'g  the  Intlierrauce  wee 

stud  fart  in, 
Thlm  same,  II.  I'haentus  meed,  which  h.id  a 

tiirniu  for  caKtin  . 
WIdout  ibut  i>peoclou«  ball  there  grew  a  pynr- 

din,  be  •faken' ! 
A  flnee  purtlcts  that  (ccBic  of  fowcr  (T  think 

li  l»>  acre*.' " 


TIIK   WOES  OF  A  LOVER. 


71 


I  Imve  l)Ht  an  indistinct  rciMilloi'lion  of  tiiO 
rest  of  tlie  evinin^'.  If  I  was  not  sounJ 
a»lccp,  I  must  liave  bcin  in  a  scniidozc, 
retaining  just  Huflieiint  eon:<eiou!<ness  to 
prosiTvo  tlie  air  of  iin  absorlx'd  listener.  I 
liad  n»tliin<;  )iut  nn  inmnnerable  multitude 
of  visions,  ttliieli  assumed  alternately  the 
shape  of  Nora  and  of  Marion.  When  at 
length  I  rose  to  go,  O'lliilhiran  l)e;;{;pd  me 
to  Slay  loniret  hut,  on  lookinf^  at  my 
v.ateh,  I  found  it  wa"  hall'-iiasi  three,  and 
so  gU{.'gosfed  in  a  jjeTieral  way  that  perhaps 
I'd  better  be  in  bed.  Whereupon  lie  in- 
formed me  tliat  he  would  not  be  at  home 
on  tiie  followin;.,'  evenin<;,  but  wouldn't  I 
corae  the  evening  al'tiT.  I  told  liini  I'd  be 
very  happy.  l?ut  siuldenly  I  reeolleeted  an 
en>;af.'einent.  "  Will, will  you  be  at  leisure 
on  the  next  evenin;:;';' "  said  lie.  I  told  him 
I  would  be,  and  so  I  left,  with  the  intention 
of  returning  on  the  third  evening  from  that 
lime. 

I  got  home  and  went  to  bed  ;  and  in  my 
dreams  I  renewed  the  events  of  tluit  even- 
ing. Not  the  latter  part  of  it,  but  the  former 
part.  There,  before  me,  floated  the  forms 
of  Nora  and  of  Marion,  the  one  all  smiles, 
the  other  all  gloom — the  one  all  jest  and 
laughter,  the  other  silent  and  sombre — the 
one  casting  at  me  the  glowing  light  of  her 
soft,  innocent,  laughing  eyes ;  the  other 
flinging  at  me  from  her  dark,  lustrous  orbs 
glance.-)  that  pierced  my  eoul.  I'm  an  im- 
pressible man  I  own  it.  I  can't  help  it. 
I  was  so  made.  I'm  awfully  susceptible. 
And  80,  'pon  my  honor,  for  the  life  of  me 
I  couldn't  tell  which  I  ailmind  most  of 
these  two  fascinating,  bewildering,  lovely, 
bewitching,  yet  totally  difl'erent  biMiigs. 
"  Oh,  Nora !  "  I  »%  icd — and  immediately 
after,  "  Oh,  Marion  !  " 


CIIAPTEII   XXI. 

JACK  OSCK  MOIIK. — TIIK  WOKS  OK  .1  I.OVKI!. — 
NOT  UISKI.Y  HIT  TOO  M.VNV. — Wiril.r.  J.VCK 
rs  Tl:l.l.l\(i  HIS  I.ITTI.K  STOllV,  TIIK  OXKS 
WHOM  UK  Tlir.S  KSTKr.T.\IXS  IIAVK  A  SKPA- 
llATK  MKKTISO. — TIIE  ntRSTINO  OF  TIIK 
STOUM. — TIIK  I.KTTKIl  OF  "  NrMIlKU  TIIKKE." 
— TIIK  WIDOW  A.M)  MISS  rilll.l.IPS. — JACK 
IIA.S  TO  AVAIL  ll'.MSKLF  OF  TIIK  AID  OF  A 
ClIAI'LAIN  OK  IIKII  MAJF..sTY'S  F0IICE8. — 
JACK    AN    INJt  IIKI)   MAN. 

It  was  late  on  the  following  morning 
when  I  rose.  I  expected  to  sec  Jack  boun- 
cing in,  but  there  were  no  signs  of  him.  I 
went  about  on  my  usual  round,  but  he  didn't 
turn  up.  I  askeil  some  of  the  other  fellow.s, 
but  none  of  them  had  seen  him.  I  began  to 
be  anxious.  Duns  were  abroail.  Jack  wos 
in  peril.  The  slierilTw:is  near.  There  waa 
no  joke  ill  it.  IViliai)s  he  was  nabbed,  or 
perliap.i  he  was  in  hiding.  The  fact  that 
no  one  had  seen  liiin  was  a  very  solemn  and 
a  very  iiorteiilous  one.  I  said  nothing  about 
my  feeliiigs,  but,  as  the  day  wore  on  wilhout 
bringing  any  sign  of  hini,  1  begun  to  lio 
more  anxious  ;  and  as  the  evening  came  I 
retired  to  my  dcii,  and  there  thoughts  of 
Jack  intermingled  themselves  with  visions 
of  Nora  and  Marion. 

The  hours  of  that  evening  passed  very 
slowly.  If  1  could  have  gone  to  O'lIuUo- 
raii's,  I  might  have  forgolteu  my  anxiety; 
but,  as  I  couldn't  go  to  O'llalloran's,  I  could 
not  get  rid  of  my  anxiety.  What  had  lic- 
coine  of  him  V  Was  he  in  limbo?  Had  he 
taken  Louie's  advice  and  flitted?  Was  he 
now  guasliing  his  splendid  set  of  teeth  in 
drear  confinement ;  or  was  he  making  a, 
fool  of  himself,  and  an  ass,  liy  jtersisiing  in 
indulging  in  sentiment  with  Louie  ? 

In  the  midst  of  these  cogitations,  eleven 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


I'll  <H 


o'clock  came,  and  a  few  moments  after  iii 
bounced  Jack  himself. 

I  mot  him  as  the  prodigal  son  was  met  by 
his  father. 

lie  was  f^looniy.  There  was  a  cloud  on 
his  broad,  Jovian,  hilarious,  (Mympiau  brow, 
^Yith  its  clustering  ambrosial  locks. 

"Jack,  old  fellow!  You  come  like  sun- 
shine through  a  fog.  '"vc  been  bothering 
about  you  all  day.  Have  you  been  nabbed  V 
Arc  the  duns  abroad  ?  Ilus  the  sherilf  in- 
vited you  to  a  friendly  and  very  confidential 
conversation?  You  haven't  been  here  for 
two  days." 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  saitl  Jack,  "  I  was  here 
last  night,  and  waited  till  three,  and  then 
walked  ofl'  to  sk'cp  on  it.  You're  up  to 
something  yourself,  old  man,  but  look  out. 
Take  warning  by  me.  Don't  plunge  in  too 
deep.  For  my  part,  I  haven't  the  heart 
to  pursue  the  sul»ject.  I've  got  beyond 
the  head-atone  even.  The  river's  the  place 
for  mo.  Hut,  Macrorie,  promise  mo  one 
thing." 

''Uh,  of  course — all  right — go  ahead." 

"  Well,  if  I  jump  into  the  river,  don't  let 
them  drag  for  me.  Let  me  calmly  drift 
away,  and  be  borne  off  into  the  Atlantic 
Ocean.  I  want  oblivion.  Hung  head- 
stones !     Let  Anderson  slide." 

Saying  this,  Jack  crammed  some  tobacco 
into  his  pi|>e,  lighted  it,  tlung  himself  into 
a  chair,  and  began  smoking  most  vigorous- 
ly. 1  watched  him  for  some  time  in  silence. 
There  was  a  dark  cloud  on  his  sunny  brow ; 
he  looked  woe-begone  and  dismal,  and, 
though  such  expre^.sions  were  altoj^ether 
out  of  harmony  with  the  Htyle  of  his  face, 
yet  to  a  friendly  eye  they  were  sulHcieutly 
visible.  I  saw  that  something  new  had 
occurred.  So  I  nailed  for  a  time,  think- 
ing that  he  would  volunteer  his  confidence ; 
but,  as  ho  did  not,  I  thought  I  would  ask 
for  it. 


"  By  Jove ! "  said  I,  at  last.  "  Hong  it, 
Jack,  do  you  know,  old  man,  you  seem  to 
be  awfully  cut  up  about  something — hit 
hard — and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  What's 
up?  Any  thing  new?  Out  with  it — clean 
breast,  and  all  that.  Ton  my  life,  I  never 
saw  you  so  cut  up  before.  What  is 
it?" 

Jack  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth, 
rubbed  his  forehead  violently,  stared  at 
me  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  slowly 
ejaculated  ■ 

"There's  a  beastly  row — tremendous — 
no  end — that's  what  there  is." 

"  A  row  ?  " 

"  Yes — no  end  of  a  row." 

"  Who  ?     What  ?     Which  of  them  ?  " 

"All  of  tlieni.  Yesterday,  and  to-day, 
and  to  be  continued  to-morrow.  Such  is 
life.  Sic  transit,  et  cetera.  Ciood  Lord  I 
Macrorie,  what's  a  fellow  to  do  but  drown 
himself?  Yes,  my  boy — oblivion  1  that's 
what  I  want.  And  I'll  have  it.  This  life 
isn't  the  thing  for  me.  I  was  never  made 
to  be  badgered.  Tlie  chief  end  of  man  is 
for  other  things  than  getting  snubbed  by 
woman.  Aiul  I'ni  noi  going  to  stand  it. 
Here,  close  by,  is  a  convenient  river.  I'll 
seek  an  acquaintance  with  its  icy  tide, 
rather  than  have  another  day  like  this." 

"  Hut  I'm  all  in  the  dark.  Tell  what  it 
is  that  has  happened." 

Jack  inhaled  a  few  more  whiffs  of  the 
smoke  that  cheers  but  not  inebriates,  and 
then  found  voice  to  speak : 

"  You  see  it  liegan  yesterday.  I  started 
off  at  peace  wiiii  the  world,  and  went  most 
dutifully  to  cull  on  Miss  Phillips.  Well,  I 
went  in  and  found  her  as  cool  as  an  icicle. 
I  didn't  know  what  was  up,  and  proceeded 
to  do  the  injured  innocent.  Whereupon  she 
turned  upon  me,  and  gave  it  to  mo  then  and 
there,  hot  and  heavy.  I  didn't  think  it  wa4 
in  her.    I  really  didn't — by  Jove  I    The  way 


THE  WOES  OF  A  LOVER. 


19 


liti'tcd 
linost 
ji'll,  I 

■iclo. 
;dud 

ulld 
w;n 

ay 


she  gave  it  to  me,"  and  Jack  paused  in 
wonder. 

"What  about?"  said  I. 

"  Tlie  widow  !  "  groaned  Jacit. 

"  Tlie  widow  ?  "  I  repeated. 

"  Vcs — tlie  widow." 

"  But  liow  did  siie  luar  about  it  so 
Boon  ?  " 

"Oh,  easy  enough.  It's  all  over  town 
now,  you  Itnow.  Her  friends  here  hoord  of 
it,  and  some  were  incredulous,  and  others 
were  indignant.  At  any  rate,  both  dosses 
rushed  with  delightful  unanimity  to  inform 
her,  so  you  may  imagine  the  state  of  mind 
I  found  her  in. 

"  You  can  easily  imagine  what  she  said. 
I  don't  think  much  of  your  imagination, 
Macrorie,  but  in  this  case  it  don't  retiuire 
a  very  vivid  one.  The  worst  of  it  is,  she 
was  (luitc  right  to  feel  indignant.  The 
only  thing  about  it  all  that  gave  mc  the 
smallest  relief,  was  the  fact  that  she  didn't 
do  the  pathetic.  She  didn't  shod  a  tear. 
She  simply  cuiestioncd  mc.  She  was  as 
stilT  as  a  ramrod,  and  as  cold  as  a  stone. 
There  was  no  mercy  in  her,  and  no  con- 
t<ideration  for  a  fellow's  feelings.  She  suiv 
ceedcd  in  making  out  that  I  was  the  most 
contemptible  fellow  living." 

"  And  what  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  Say  ?  What  could  I  say  ?  She  forced 
me  to  own  up  about  the  widow.  Hang  it, 
you  know  I  can't  lie.  So,  ofter  trying  to 
dodge  her  questions,  I  answered  them.  She 
wouldn't  let  mc  dodge  them.  Hut  there 
was  one  thing  left.  I  swore  to  her,  by  all 
that  was  tr\ie,  that  I  didn't  care  a  fig  for  the 
widow,  that  my  engagement  with  her  arose 
altogether  through  a  mistake.  She  pressed 
mc  hard  on  this,  and  I  had  to  tell  this 
too." 

"  What  ?  Look  here,  Jock — you  didn't 
drag  in  Louie  into  your  confounded  scrape  V  " 

"Do  you   think   I'm  such  a  villain  os 


that?"  said  Jack,  indignantly.  "No— of 
course  I  didn't.  Louie — I'd  die  first.  No. 
I  told  her  some  story  about  my  mistaking 
her  for  a  friend,  whose  name  I  didn't  men- 
tion. I  told  her  that  I  took  the  widow's 
hand  by  mistake — ^just  in  fun,  you  know — 
thinking  it  was  my  friend,  and  all  that ;  and 
before  I  knew  it  the  widow  had  nabbed 
me." 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Well,  she  didn't  condcscpml  to  ask  the 
name  of  my  friend.  She  thought  the  wid- 
ow was  enough  at  a  time,  I  suppose,  and  so 
she  asked  me  about  the  state  of  my  feelings 
toward  her.  And  here  I  expressed  myself 
frankly.  I  told  her  that  niy  only  desiro 
W08  to  get  out  of  her  clutches — that  it  wos 
all  o  mistake,  and  that  I  was  in  an  infernal 
scrape,  and  didn't  know  how  to  get  out 
of  it. 

"  Such  strong  language  os  this  mollilied 
her  o  little,  and  she  began  to  lielicvc  me. 
Yet  she  did  not  soften  altogether.  At  last, 
I  pitched  into  the  widow  hot  and  heavy. 
This  restored  her  to  her  usual  self.  She 
forgovp  mo  altogether.  She  even  said  that 
she  was  sorry  for  me.  She  hinted,  too,  that 
if  she  ever  saw  the  widow,  she'd  have  it  out 
with  her." 

"  Ileoven  forbid ! "  said  I.  "  Keep  them 
opart,  .lack,  if  you  can,"  • 

.lack  groaned. 

"So  it's  all  right,  is  it?  I  congratulate 
you — 08  fur  OS  it's  worth  congratulation, 
you  know.  So  you  got  out  of  it,  did  you? 
A  '  full,  fresh,  frank,  free,  formal,  ample, 
exhaustive,  and  perfectly  satisfactory  expla- 
nation,' hey  ?  That's  the  style  of  thing,  is 
it?" 

Jack  gnashed  his  teeth. 

"Come,  now — old  boy — no  chaflT,  I'm 
beyond  that.  Can't  stand  It.  Fact  is,  you 
haven't  heard  the  whole  story  yet,  and  I 
don't  feel  like  telling  the  re»t  of  it,  if  you 


¥' 


I 


u 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


interrupt  a  fellow  with  your  coiilbumled 
humbug," 

"(!o  ahead — don't  fear,  Jack — I  won't 
Chan." 

Jiifk  drew  a  Ion;;  breath. 

"  Well,  then — I  took  her  out  for  a  drive. 
We  liaci  a  very  good  time,  tlioufrh  both  of 
us  Wore  a  little  preoceupied,  and  I  thought 
she  had  altered  awfully  from  what  she  uncd 
to  be ;  and  then,  you  know,  after  leaving 
her,  I  went  to  see  the  widow." 

"  You  didn't  tell  her  where  you  were  go- 
ing, of  eourse  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Jack, .with  a  sigh.  "Well, 
you  see,  I  went  to  the  widow,  and  I  found 
that  she  hail  heard  about  my  calling  on  Miss 
riiillips,  and  driving  out  with  her  for  a  eo>i- 
[ile  of  hours,  and  I  don't  know  what  else. 
She  was  calm,  anil  (piiet,  and  cool,  and  sim- 
ply wanted  to  know  what  it  all  meant.  Will, 
do  you  know  that  sort  of  coolness  is  the 
very  thing  that  I  can't  stand.  If  she'd 
raved  at  me,  or  scolded,  or  been  passionate, 
or  gone  on  in  any  kiml  of  a  way,  I  could 
have  dealt  with  her;  b\it  with  a  jierson  like 
that,  who  is  so  eulra,  and  cool,  and  quiet,  I 
h.aven't  the  faintest  idea  how  to  act. 

'•I  nuimbh'il  something  or  other  about 
'old  friendship' — 'stranger  in  a  strange 
land  ' — horrid  rot — what  an  ass  she  nmst 
have  thought  me  I — but  that's  the  way  it 
was.  She  didn't  say  any  thing.  She  began 
to  talk  alioiit  something  else  in  a  conven- 
tional way  —  the  weather,  I  think.  I 
couldn't  do  any  thing.  I  made  a  vague 
atteiiipt  at  friendly  remonstrauee  with  her 
about  her  coolness;  but  she  didn't  notice 
it.  She  went  on  talking  about  the  weather. 
Hhe  was  eonvinee*!  that  it  would  snow.  I, 
for  my  part,  was  convinced  that  there  was 
going  to  be  a  storm — a  hurricane — a  tor- 
nado— any  thing.  Dut  she  only  smiled  at 
my  veheraeneo,  and  finally  I  left,  with  a  gen- 
eral idi-a  that  there  was  thunder  iu  the  air. 


"  Well,  you  know,  I  then  went  off  to  sec 
Louie.  Hut  I  didn't  get  any  satisfaction 
there.  The  otlier  girls  were  present,  and 
the  aunt.  There  wasn't  any  whist,  and  so 
I  had  to  do  the  agreeable  to  the  wholo 
party,  I  waited  until  late,  in  the  hope  that 
some  chance  might  turn  up  of  a  private  chat 
with  Louie,  but  none  came.  So  at  last  I 
came  home,  feeling  a  general  disgust  with 
the  world  and  the  things  of  the  world." 

"  Rather  hard,  that,"  said  I,  as  Jack  re- 
lapsed into  moody  silence. 

"Hardy"  said  he;  "that  was  yester- 
day, but  it  was  nothing  to  what  I  met  with 
to-day." 

"To-day? — why,  what's  up  worse  than 
that?" 

"  Every  thing.  Hut  I'll  go  on  and  make 
a  clean  breast  of  it.  Only  don't  laugh  at 
me,  Macrorie,  or  I'll  cut." 

"  Laugh  ?     Ho  I  ever  laugh  ?  " 

Jack  took  a  few  more  pull's,  and  relieved 
his  sorrow-laden  breast  by  several  prelim- 
inary and  preparatory  sighs,  after  which  ho 
l)roceeded : 

"  To-day,"  ho  began,  "  I  got  up  late.  I 
felt  heavy.  I  anticipated  a  general  row.  I 
dressed.  I  breakfasted,  ami,  just  as  I  wa3 
finishing,  the  row  began.  A  letter  was 
brought  in  from  the  post-ofliee.  It  was 
from  Nund)er  Three." 

"  Number  Three  ?  "  I  eried. 

"•Number  Three,"  repeated  Jack.  "As 
if  it  wasn't  bad  enough  already,  she  must 
come  forward  to  add  herself  to  those  who 
were  already  crushing  me  to  the  earth,  and 
driving  me  mad.  It  seemed  hard,  by  Jove ! 
I  tell  you  what  it  i.s,  old  chap,  nobody's  so 
remorseless  as  a  woman.  Even  my  duns 
have  been  more  merciful  to  me  than  these 
friends  whom  I  love.  It's  too  bad,  by  Jove, 
it  is! 

"  Well.  Number  Three's  letter  was  sim- 
ply  tremendous.      She    had    heard   every 


THE  W'OT.S  OF   A   LOVEK. 


15 


tiling.  I've  olrcaily  toM  joii  tlmt  hlio 
keeps  the  niu  of  nio  pnlly  well,  tliough 
Low  sho  nianafjfs  it  I  can't  iiiiagiiiL — ami 
now  it  seems  she  licnnl,  on  tlio  siinic  day, 
of  uiy  engagcnu'iit  to  the  widow,  ami  of  the 
arrival  of  Miss  I'hilli]))^,  to  whom  I  was  also 
engaged.  Tlii.s  iiewd  seemed  to  drive  her 
wild  with  indignntion.  She  mentioned  these 
faets  to  nic,  ami  onlcred  nie  to  deny  them 
nt  once.  Slie  deeUired  that  it  was  impossi- 
ble for  any  gentleman  to  aet  so  tlishonoru- 
bly,  and  said  that  nothing  but  the  charac- 
ter of  her  informant  could  lead  her  to  ask 
me  to  deny  such  foul  slanders. 

"  Tliat'rf  the  way  she  put  it.  That's  the 
style  of  thing  she  flung  at  me  when  I  was 
already  on  my  Imck.  That's  Number  Throe 
fur  you !  And  the  worst  of  it  is,  I  don't 
know  what  to  .<ay  in  reply.  I  tell  you 
what  it  is  now,  Maeroric,  that  was  a  pretty 
tough  beginning  for  the  day.  I  felt  it,  and 
I  left  my  room  with  a  dark  presentiment  in 
my  mind,  and  the  same  general  idoa  of  a 
brooding  thunder-storm,  which  I  had  expe- 
rienced the  evening  before. 

"Then  I  went  to  see  Miss  riiiilips,  and 
this  was  my  frame  of  mind.  I  found  her 
calm,  cold,  and  stiff  as  on  iceberg.  Xot  a 
Bingle  kind  word.  No  consideration  for  a 
fellow  at  all.  I  implored  her  to  tell  mo 
what  was  the  matter.  She  didn't  rail  at 
me  ;  she  didn't  reproach  tnc ;  but  proceed- 
ed in  the  same  cruel,  inconsiderate,  iceberg 
fashion,  to  tell  mo  what  the  matter  was. 
And  I  tell  you,  old  boy,  the  long  and  the 
short  of  it  was,  there  was  the  very  mis- 
chief to  pay,  and  the  last  place  in  Quebec 
that  I  ought  to  have  entered  was  that  ymr- 
tieular  place.  Hut  then,  how  did  I  kuov; ';' 
Besides,  I  wanted  to  sec  her." 

"  What  was  it  ? "  I  asked,  seeing  Jack 
hesitate. 

"  What  I  Why,  who  do  you  think  had 
been  there?    The  widow  herself  I    She  had 


come  to  call  on  Mis.^  rhilllp?',  nnd  came 
with  a  fi.xed  design  on  nie.  In  a  few  mo- 
ments she  nmnaged  to  introduce  my  name. 
Trotting  me  out  in  that  fashion  doesn't 
strike  me  as  l)eing  altogether  fair,  but  she 
did  it.  Mrs.  Mewelopen,  who  is  5Iiss  Phil- 
lips's aunt,  took  her  up  rather  warmly,  and 
informed  lier  that  I  was  engaged  to  Miss 
rhillii)S.  The  widow  smiled,  and  said  I  was 
a  sad  man,  for  I  had  told  her,  when  I  en- 
gaged myself  to  her,  that  my  allair  with 
Miss  riiillips  was  all  broken  off,  and  had 
repeated  the  same  thing  two  evenings  be- 
fore. She  also  informed  them  that  I  visited 
her  every  day,  and  was  most  devoted.  To 
all  this  Miss  Thillips  had  to  listen,  and 
could  not  say  one  word.  She  had  sense 
eno\igh,  however,  to  decline  any  altercation 
with  the  widow,  and  reserve  her  remark? 
for  me.  And  now,  old  boy,  you  see  what  I 
caught  on  entering  the  jiresenee  of  Miss 
riiillips.  She  did  not  weep ;  she  did  not 
sigh  ;  she  did  not  reproach ;  she  did  not 
cry — she  simply  iiuestioned  ine,  standing 
before  me  cold  and  icy,  and  flinging  her 
bitter  questions  at  me.  The  wiilow  had 
said  this  and  that.  The  widow  had  rejieat- 
cd  such  and  such  words  of  mine.  The  wid- 
ow had  al.  o  subjected  her  to  bitter  shame 
and  mortification.  And  what  had  I  to  say? 
She  was  too  much  of  a  la<Iy  to  deiiouncoior 
to  scold,  and  too  high-hearted  even  to  taunt 
me ;  too  proud,  too  lofty,  to  deign  to  show 
that  she  felt  the  cut ;  she  only  questioned 
me  ;  she  only  asked  me  to  explain  such  and 
such  things.  Well,  I  tried  to  explain,  and 
gave  a  full  and  frank  account  of  every 
thing,  and,  as  far  as  the  widow  was  con- 
cerned, I  was  perfectly  truthful.  I  declared 
again  that  it  was  all  a  mistake,  and  that  I'd 
give  any  thing  to  get  rid  of  her.  This  was 
all  perfectly  true,  but  it  wasn't  by  any 
means  satisfactory  to  Miss  riiillips.  She's 
awfully     high-strung,    you     know.       She 


r 


<  ' 


70 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


II'V 


Mil 


couldn't  overlook  the  fact  that  I  had  given 
the  widon*  to  understand  that  it  waB  all 
bruken  oflT  with  u».  I  hud  never  eaid  so, 
hut  I  had  lot  the  widow  think  so,  and  that 
was  enough. 

"  Well,  you  know,  I  got  hufl'y  at  lust,  and 
said  she  didn't  make  allowunoc^  for  a  fel- 
low, and  all  that.  I  told  hor  that  I  was 
awfully  careless,  and  was  always  getting 
into  confounded  scrapes,  liut  that  it  would 
all  turn  out  right  in  the  end,  and  some  day 
she'd  understand  it  all.  Finally,  I  felt  so 
confoundedly  mean,  and  so  exactly  like 
some  infernal  whipjit'd  cur,  that  I  then  and 
there  asked  her  to  take  me,  on  the  spot, 
as  I  was,  and  fulGl  her  vow  to  me.  I  swore 
that  the  ividow  was  nothing  to  ine,  and 
wi-shed  she  was  in  Jericho.  At  this  she 
smiled  slightly,  rnd  said  that  I  didn't  know 
what  I  was  saying,  and,  in  fact,  declined  my 
self-sacrificing  ofler.  Ho  there  I  was — and 
I'll  bo  hanged,  Macrorie,  isn't  it  odd? — 
there's  the  third  person  that's  refused  to 
marry  me  olT-hand !  I  vow  I  did  what  I 
could.  I  offered  to  marry  her  at  once,  and 
she  declined  just  as  the  others  did.  With 
that  I  turned  the  tables  on  her,  reproached 
her  for  her  coldness,  told  her  that  I  had 
given  her  the  highest  possible  mark  of  my 
regard,  and  bade  her  adieu.  Wc  shook 
hatids.  lifers  was  very  languid,  and  she 
looked  at  me  quite  Indifferently.  I  told 
her  that  she'd  feel  differently  to-rnorrow, 
and  she  said  perhaps  she  might.  And  so 
I  left  her. 

"  Well,  then,  I  had  the  widow  to  visit, 
but  the  letter  and  the  affair  with  Miss  Phil- 
lips had  worn  out  my  resources.  In  any 
ordinary  ease,  the  widow  was  too  many 
guns  for  me,  b\it,  in  a  case  like  this,  she 
was  formidable  beyond  all  description.  So 
I  hunted  up  the  chaplain,  and  made  him  go 
with  me.  lie's  a  good  fellow,  ond  is  ac- 
quainted with  her  a  little,  and  I  knew  that 


sho  liked  him.  So  wc  went  off  there  to- 
gether. Well,  do  you  know,  Maeroric,  I 
believe  that  woman  saw  through  the  whole 
thing,  and  knew  why  the  chaplain  had  enmo 
as  well  as  I  did.  She  greetc<i  me  civilly, 
but  rather  shortly;  and  there  was  a  half- 
smile  on  her  mouth,  confound  it !  She's  an 
awfully  pretty  woman,  too  !  We  were  there 
for  a  couple  of  hours.  She  made  us  dine — 
that  is  to  say,  I  expected  to  dine  as  a  mat- 
ter of  course,  and  she  invited  the  chaplain. 
So  we  stayed,  and  I  think  for  two  hours  I 
did  not  exchange  a  dozen  words  with  her. 
She  directed  her  conversation  almost  exclu- 
sively to  the  chaplain.  I  began  to  feel  jeal- 
ous at  last,  and  tried  to  get  her  attention, 
but  it  was  no  go.  I'm  rather  dull,  you  know 
— good-natured,  and  all  that,  but  not  clever 
— while  the  ciiaplain  is  one  of  the  cleverest 
men  going;  and  the  widow's  awfidly  clever, 
too.  They  got  beyond  me  in  no  time. 
They  were  talking  all  sorts  of  stuff  about 
Gregorian  chants,  ecclesiastic  s.Mnbolism, 
mediu'val  hymns,  the  lion  of  St.  Mark, 
chasuble,  alb,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
you  know,  no  end,  and  I  sat  like  a  log  lis- 
tening, just  the  same  as  tliough  they  spoko 
f'hinese,  while  the  widftw  took  no  more 
notice  of  me  than  if  I'd  been  a  Chinaman. 
And  she  kept  up  that  till  wo  left.  And 
that  was  her  way  of  poying  mo  off.  And 
the  chaplain  thought  she  was  an  awfully 
clever  woman,  and  admired  her — no  end. 
And  I  felt  as  jealous  as  Othello. 

"  Then  I  hurried  off  to  Louii".  Hut  luck 
was  against  me.  There  was  a  lot  of  fel- 
lows there,  and  1  didn't  get  a  chance.  I 
only  got  a  pleasant  greeting  and  a  bright 
look,  that  was  all.  I  was  longing  to  get 
her  into  a  corner,  and  have  a  little  comfort, 
and  a  little  good  advice.  Hut  I  couldn't. 
.Misfortunes  never  come  singly.  To-day 
every  thing  has  been  blacker  than  mid- 
night.   Number  Three,  Miss  Phillips,  and 


I  REVEAL  MY  SECRET. 


"7 


the  wiJovr,  arc  all  turiiing  a(;:iinit  u  TlIIow. 
I  tliiiik  il'rt  inrcnmlly  liu-il.  I  reel  Mi.-iH 
riiillip't'.i  treiitiiiciit  worrit.  Hlio  had  no 
bu!iiiic«a  to  come  Ihto  at  all  w  livii  I  tliotight 
she  was  safe  in  New  lirunHw'u-k.  I  dure 
say  I  could  Imvo  wri^(,'li.'d  tlirougli,  l)ut  hIio 
came  and  pri'i'i|>i(ittoil  the  eiitutitro|)lii',  iia 
the  Haying  ii<.  Tlicn,  again,  why  didn't  hIic 
take  me  when  I  ofrcrcd  myself  ?  And,  for 
that  matter,  why  ilidn't  Niiiiilxr  Threu  take 
mo  that  ulhcr  time  wiieii  I  wa.s  ready,  and 
asked  her  to  fly  with  me  »  I'll  he  hanged 
If  I  don't  think  I've  had  an  abominal)ly  hard 
time  of  it  1  And  now  I'm  fairly  eorncrod, 
and  you  must  see  |iiainiy  why  I'm  tiiiidiing 
of  the  river.  If  I  take  to  it,  tiiey'll  all 
mourn,  and  even  Louie'll  shed  a  tear  over 
me,  I  know  ;  whereas,  if  I  don't,  they'll  all 
pitch  into  nio,  and  Louie'll  only  lau^h. 
Look  lierc,  old  boy,  I'll  give  up  women  for- 
ever." 

"  Whot !     And'  Louie,  too  «  " 

"  0\\,  that's  a  diderent  thing  altogether," 
said  Jack  ;  and  he  subsided  into  a  deep  fit 
of  melancholy  musing. 

CIIArTER   XXII. 

I  REVEAL  MV  SEritET. — TnKUKNDOl'S  KFTECTS 
or  THK  nEVELATION. — MUTUAL  RXPLANA- 
TIONH,  WniCII  AHE  nv  SO  MEANM  HATIH- 
FACTORY. — JACK  .«TASn9  Ul'  FOK  WHAT  HE 
CALLS  Uia  RIOMTa. — REMONSTRANCES  AND 
REASONINGS,  ENDING  IN  A  GENERAL  ROW. 
— JACK  MAKES  A  DECLARATION  Of  WAR, 
AND  TAKES  HIS  DErARTI'KE  IN  A  STATE  OF 
UNPARALLELED  IIllTINESS. 

I  COULD  hold  out  no  longer.  I  had  pre- 
served my  secret  jealously  for  two  entire 
days,  and  my  greater  secret  had  been  seeth- 
ing in  my  brain,  and  all  that,  for  a  day. 
Jack  had  given  me  his  entire  confidence. 
Why  shouldu'l  I  give  Lim  mine  ?     I  longed 


to  tell  him  all.  I  had  told  him  of  my  adven- 
ture, and  why  .-hould  I  not  tell  of  its  hnppy 
termination  ?  Jack,  too,  was  fairly  and 
thoroughly  in  the  dump!),  and  it  would  be  a 
positive  boon  to  him  if  I  could  lead  his 
thoughts  away  from  his  own  sorrows  to  my 
very  peculiar  ailveiifurcs. 

"  Jack,"  said  I,  at  last,  "  I've  something 
to  tell  you." 

"  (!o  ahead,"  cried  Jack,  from  the  further 
end  of  his  pipe. 

"  It's  about  the  Lady  of  the  Ice,"  said  I. 

*'  Is  It?  "  said  Jack,  dolefully. 

"  Yes ;  would  vou  like  to  hear  about 
it?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course,"  said  Jack,  in  the 
same  tone. 

Whereuj)on  I  began  with  the  evening  of 
the  concert,  and  toM  him  all  about  the  old 
man,  and  my  rush  to  the  rescue.  I  gave  a 
very  animated  description  of  tiio  scene,  but, 
finding  that  Jack  did  not  evince  any  par- 
ticular interest,  I  cut  it  all  .short. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  I  won't  bore  you.  I'll 
merely  state  the  leading  facts.  I  got  the 
old  fellow  out.  He  took  my  arm,  and  in- 
sisted on  my  going  home  with  him.  I  went 
home,  and  found  there  the  Lady  of  the 
Ice." 

"  Odd,  too,"  said  .lack,  languidly,  puffing 
out  a  long  stream  of  smoke ;  "  don't  see 
how  you  recognized  her — thought  you  didn't 
remember,  and  all  that.  So  you've  found 
her  ot  last,  Imvc  you?  Well,  my  dear  fel- 
low, 'low  me  to  congratulate  you.  Deuced 
queer,  too.  Hy-tUc-way,  what  did  you  say 
her  name  was  ? " 

"  I  didn't  mention  her  name,"  said  L 

"  Ah,  I  see  ;  a  secret  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no.  I  didn't  suppose  you'd  care 
about  knowing." 

"  Rosh  !  Course  I'd  care.  What  was 
it,  old  boy  ?  Tell  a  fellow.  I'll  keep  dark 
—you  know  me." 


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18 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


ill! 


!!? 


I 


"  Her  name,"  said  I,  "  h  Jlisa  O'llallo- 
ran." 

Xo  sooner  had  I  uttered  that  name,  tlian 
an  instantaneous  and  most  astonishing 
change  came  over  the  whole  face,  the  whole 
air,  tlic  whole  manner,  the  whole  expression, 
and  the  whole  attitude,  of  Jack  Randolph. 
He  sprang  up  to  his  feet,  as  though  he  had 
been  shot,  and  the  pipe  fell  from  his  hands 
on  the  floor,  where  it  lay  smashed. 

"  WHAT ! ! !  "  ho  cried,  in  a  loud  voice. 

"  Look  here,"  said  I — "  what  may  be  the 
meaning  of  all  that  ?  What's  the  row 
now  ?  " 

"  What  name  did  you  say  ?  "  he  re- 
peated. 

"  Miss  O'llalloran,"  said  L 

"  O'llalloran  ?  "  said  he  —  "  arc  you 
sure  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  I'm  sure.  IIow  can  I  be 
mistaken  ?  " 

"  And  her  father — what  sort  of  a  man  is 
he?" 

"  A  fine  old  fellow,"  said  I—"  full  of  fun, 
well  informed,  convivial,  age  about  sixty, 
well  preserved,  splendid  face — " 

"  Is — is  he  an  Irishman  1 "  asked  Jack, 
■with  deep  emotion. 

"  Yes." 

"  Does  —  docs  ho  live  in  —  in  Queen 
Street  ?  "  asked  Jack,  with  a  gasp. 

"  The  very  street,"  said  I. 

"  Xumbor  seven  hundred  and  ninety- 
nine  ?  " 

"The  very  number.  But  see  here,  old 
chap,  how  the  mischief  do  you  happen  to 
know  so  exactly  all  about  that  houae  ?  It 
strikes  me  as  being  deuced  odd." 

"  And  you  saved  her  ?  "  said  Jack,  with- 
out taking  any  notice  of  my  question. 

"  Haven't  I  just  told  you  so  ?  Oh,  both- 
er !    What's  the  use  of  all  this  fuss  ?  " 

"  .Jiss  O'llalloran  ?  "  said  Jack. 

"Jliss  O'Halloran,"  I  repeated.    "But 


will  you  allow  me  to  ask  what  in  the  name 
of  common-sense  is  the  matter  with  you  ? 
Is  there  a  bee  iu  your  bonnet,  man  ? 
What's  Miss  O'llalloran  to  you,  or  you  to 
Miss  O'llalloran  ?  Haven't  you  got  enough 
women  on  your  conscience  already  ?  Do 
you  mean  to  drag  her  in  ?  Don't  try  it, 
ray  boy — for  I'm  concerned  there." 

"  Miss  O'Halloran  ! "  cried  Jack.  "  Look 
here,  Macrorie — you'd  better  take  care." 

"  Take  care  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Don't  you  go  humbugging  about 
there." 

"I  don't  know  what  you're  up  to,  dear 
boy.    AVhat's  your  little  joke  ? " 

"  There's  no  joko  at  all  about  it,"  said 
Jack,  harshly.  "  Do  )'ou  know  who  Miss 
O'Halloran  is  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  know  that  she's  the  daughter 
of  Mr.  O'Halloran,  and  that  he's  a  fine  old 
fellow.  Any  further  information,  however, 
I  shall  be  delighted  to  receive.  You  talk 
as  though  you  knew  something  about  her. 
What  is  it  ?  But  don't  slander.  Xot  a 
word  against  her.    That  I  won't  stand." 

"  Slander !  A  word  against  her  ! "'  crie-I 
Jack.  "  Macrorie,  you  don't  know  who  she 
is,  or  what  she  is  to  me.  Macrorie,  this 
Miss  O'Halloran  is  that  lady  that  we  have 
been  calling  '  Number  Three.'  " 

It  was  now  my  turn  to  be  confounded. 
I,  too,  started  to  my  feet,  and  not  only 
my  pipe,  but  my  tumbler  also,  fell  crash- 
ing on  the  floor. 

"  The  devil  she  is !  "  I  cried. 

"  She  is — I  swear  she  is — as  true  as  I'm 
alive." 

At  this  moment  I  had  more  need  of  a 
good,  long,  low  whistle  than  ever  I  had  in 
my  life  before.  But  I  didn't  whistle.  Even 
a  whistle  was  useless  here  to  express  the 
emotions  that  I  felt  at  Jack's  revelation.  I 
stood  and  stared  at  him  in  silence.  But 
I  didn't  see  him.   Other  visions  came  before 


'ill 


I'm 


.uj.j'l 


li 


He  sprang  up  to  his  feet  as  thojgh  he  had  been  shot.     '  What  ! '  ha  cried,  In  a  loud  voice. 

Page  78. 


I      I 


;     ■ 
i 


ill 


I  REVEAL  1\[Y  SECRET. 


70 


my  mind's  ore,  Horatio,  which  shut  out  Jack 
from  my  view.  I  was  again  in  that  delight- 
ful parlor ;  again  Nora's  form  was  near — 
her  laughing  face,  her  speaking  eyes,  her 
expression— now  genial  and  sympathetic, 
now  confused  and  embarrassed.  There  was 
her  round,  rosy,  smiling  face,  and  near  it 
the  sombre  face  of  Marion,  with  her  dark, 
penetrating  eyes.  And  this  winning  face, 
this  laughter-loving  Venus — this  was  the 
one  about  whom  Jack  raved  as  his  Xiimber 
Three.  This  was  the  one  whom  he  asked  to 
run  off  with  him.  She!  /S'Ac  run  off,  and 
with  him  !  The  idea  was  simple  insanity. 
She  had  written  him  a  letter — had  she  ? — 
and  it  was  a  scorcher,  according  to  his  own 
confession.  She  had  found  him  out,  and 
thrown  him  over.  Was  not  I  far  more  to 
her  than  a  fellow  like  Jack— I  who  had 
saved  her  from  a  hideous  death  ?  Tlicre 
could  be  no  question  about  that.  >Vas  not 
her  bright,  beaming  smile  of  farewell  still 
lingering  in  my  memory  ?  And  Jack  hud 
the  audacity  to  think  of  her  yet ! 

"  Number  Three,"  said  I—"  well,  that's 
odd.    At  any  rate,  there's  one  of  your  trou- 
bles cut  off." 
"  Cut  off?  " 
"  Yes." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 
"  I  mean  this,  that  Number  Three  won't 
bother  you  again." 

Jack  stood  looking  at  me  for  some  time 
in  silence,  with  a  di.rk  frown  on  his 
brow. 

"  Look  here,  Macroric,"  said  he ;  "  you 
force  me  to  gather  from  your  words  what 
I  am  very  unwilling  to  learn." 

"  What !  "  said  L  "  la  it  that  I  admire 
Miss  O'llalloran  ?  Is  that  it  ?  Come,  now ; 
speak  plainly.  Jack.  Don't  stand  in  the 
sulks.  What  is  it  that  you  want  to  say  ? 
I  confess  that  I'm  as  much  amazed  as  you 
are  at  finding  that  my  Lady  of  the  Ice  is 


the  same  as  your  'Number  Throe.'  Cut 
such  is  the  case ;  and  now  what  are  you 
going  to  do  about  it  ?  " 

"  First  of  all,"  said  Jack,  coldly,  "  I  want 
to  know  what  j'ou  are  proposing  to  do 
about  it." 

"I?"  said  L  "Why,  my  intention  is, 
if  possible,  to  try  to  win  from  Miss  O'llal- 
loran a  return  of  that  feeling  which  I  enter- 
tain toward  her." 

"  So  that's  your  little  game — is  it  ? "  said 
Jack,  savagely. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  quietly ;  "  that's  exactly 
my  little  game.  And  may  I  ask  what  objec- 
tion you  have  to  it,  or  on  wliat  possible 
right  you  can  ground  any  conceivable  objec- 
tion?" 

"  Right  ?  "  said  Jack—"  every  right  that 
a  man  of  honor  should  respect." 

"Right?"  cried  L     "Right?" 

"  Yes,  right.     You  know  very  well  that 


she' 


s  mmc. 


"Yours!  Yours!"  I  cried.  "Yours! 
You  call  her  '  Number  Three.'  That  very 
name  of  itself  is  enough  to  shut  your 
mouth  forever.  What!  Do  you  come 
seriously  to  claim  any  ri^hts  over  a  girl, 
when  by  your  own  confession  there  are  no 
less  than  two  others  to  whom  you  have 
offered  yourself?  Do  you  moan  to  look 
mc  in  the  face,  after  what  you  yourself 
have  told  me,  and  say  that  you  consider 
that  you  have  any  claims  on  Miss  O'llallo- 
ran ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do !  "  cried  Jack.  "  I  do,  by 
Jove !  Look  here,  Maorprie.  I've  given 
you  my  confidence.  I've  told  you  all  about 
my  affair  with  her.  You  know  that  only  a 
day  or  two  ago  I  was  expecting  her  to  elope 
with  me — " 

"  Yes,  and  hoping  that  she  wouldn't,"  I 
interrupted. 

"  I  was  not.  I  was  angry  when  she  re- 
fused, and  I've  felt  hard  about  it  ever  since. 


in. 


w 


80 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


iA 


But  she's  mine  all  the  same,  aud  jou  know 
it." 

*'  Yours  ?  And  so  is  Miss  Phillips  yours," 
I  cried,  "  and  so  is  Mrs.  Finniiuore  ;  and  I 
swear  I  believe  that,  if  I  were  to  be  sweet 
on  Louie,  you'd  consider  yourself  injured. 
Hang  it,  man !  What  are  you  up  to  ? 
What  do  you  mean  ?  At  this  rate,  you'll 
claim  every  woman  in  Quebec.  Where  do 
you  intend  to  draw  the  line  ?  Would  you 
be  content  if  I  were  sweet  on  Miss  Phil- 
lips ?  AVouldu't  you  be  jealous  if  I  were 
to  visit  the  widow  ?  And  what  would  you 
say  if  J  were  seized  with  a  consuming  pas- 
sion for  Louie  ?  Come,  Jack — don't  row ; 
don't  be  tiuitc  insane.  Sit  down  again,  and 
take  another  pipe,  and  let's  drop  the  subject." 

"  I  won't  drop  the  subject,"  growled 
Jack.  "  You  needn't  try  to  argue  your- 
self out  of  it.  You  know  very  well  that  I 
got  her  first." 

"  Why,  man,  at  this  latc,  yon  might  get 
every  woman  in  America.  You  seem  to 
think  that  this  is  Utah." 

"  Come,  no  humbug,  Macrorie.  You 
know  very  well  what  I  am  to  that  girl." 

"  You  !  you  !  "  I  cried.  "  Why,  you  have 
told  me  already  that  she  has  found  you  out. 
Hang  it,  man !  if  it  comes  to  that,  what  are 
you  in  her  eyes  compared  with  me  ?  You've 
been  steadily  humbugging  her  ever  since 
you  first  knew  her,  and  she's  found  it  out. 
But  I  come  to  her  as  the  companion  of  the 
darkest  hour  of  her  life,  as  the  one  who 
saved  her  from  death.  You — good  Lord ! 
— do  you  pretend  to  put  yourself  in  com- 
parison with  me  ?  You,  with  your  other 
affairs,  and  your  conscious  falsity  to  her, 
with  me !  Why,  but  for  me,  she  would  by 
this  time  be  drifting  down  the  river,  and 
lying  stark  and  dead  on  the  beach  of  Anti- 
costi.  That  is  what  I  have  done  for  her. 
And  what  have  you  done  ?  I  might  have 
laughed  over  the  joke  of  it  before  I  knew 


her ;  but  now,  since  I  know  her,  and  love 
her,  when  you  force  me  to  say  what  you 
have  dene,  I  declare  to  you  that  you  have 
wronged  her,  and  cheated  her,  and  hum- 
bugged her,  and  she  knows  it,  and  you 
know  it,  and  I  know  it.  These  things  may 
be  all  very  well  for  a  lark  ;  but,  when  you 
pretend  to  make  a  serious  matter  of  them, 
they  look  ugly.  Confound  it  t  have  you  lost 
your  senses  ?  " 

"  You'll  see  whether  Pvc  lost  my  senses 
or  not,"  said  Jack,  fiercely. 

"  You've  got  trouble  enough  on  your 
shoulders.  Jack,"  said  L  "  Don't  get  into 
any  more.  You  actually  have  the  face  to 
claim  no  less  than  three  women.  Yes,  four. 
I  must  count  Louie,  also.  If  this  question 
were  about  Louie,  wouldn't  you  be  just  as 
fierce  ? " 

Jack  did  not  answer. 

"  Wouldn't  you  ?  Wouldn't  you  say  that 
I  had  violated  your  confidence  ?  AVouldn't 
you  declare  that  it  was  a  wrong  to  yourself, 
and  a  bitter  injury  ?  If  I  had  saved  Louie's 
life,  and  then  suddenly  fallen  in  love  with 
her,  wouldn't  you  have  warned  me  off  in 
the  same  way  ?  You  know  you  would. 
But  will  you  listen  to  reason  ?  You  can't 
have  them  all.  Yau  must  choose  one  of 
them.  Takij  Miss  Phillips,  and  be  true  to 
your  first  vow.  Take  the  widow,  and  be 
rich.  Take  Louie,  and  be  happy.  There 
you  have  it.  There  are  three  for  you.  As 
for  Miss  O'llalloran,  she  has  passed  away 
from  you  forever.  I  have  snatched  her  from 
death,  and  she  is  mine  forever." 

"  She  shall  never  be  yours ! "  cried  Jack, 
furiously. 

"  She  shall  be  mine ! "  cried  I,  in  wrath- 
ful tones. 

"  Never !  never ! "  cried  Jack.  "  She's 
mine,  and  she  shall  be  mine." 

"  Damn  it,  man !  are  you  crazy  ?  How 
many  wives  do  you  propose  to  have  ?  " 


A  FRIEND  BECOMES  AS  ENEMY. 


81 


•'  She  shall  be  iiiiuo ! "'  oriel  Jack,  "  ?ho, 
and  no  othor.  I  give  uyt  all  others.  The}- 
may  all  go  and  be  hanged.  She,  and  she 
alone,  shall  be  mine.*' 

Saying  this,  he  ftiode  toward  the  door, 
opened  it,  pas.'^i.d  through,  and  banged  it 
behind  him.  I  heard  his  heavy  footsteps 
as  he  went  ofT,  and  I  stood  glaring  after 
him,  all  my  soul  on  fire  with  indignation. 


CIIArTER  XXIII. 

A  FRIEXD  BECOMES  AN  ENEMY. — MKniTATIONS 
ON  TOE  ANCIENT  AND  VEXERABLE  FABLE  OF 
THE  DOG  IN  THE  MANGEB. — THE  COItlHT- 
TION  OF  THE  Hl'MAN  HEAUT. — CONSIPEKA- 
TION  OF  THE  WHOLE  SITUATION. — ATTEMPTS 
TO  COtTNTERMINE  JACK,  AND  FINAL  RESOLVE. 

So  Jaek  left,  and  so  I  stood  staring  after 
him  in  furious  indignation. 

"  By  Jove  1 "  I  exelaiined,  addressing  my 
own  honorable  self,  "  are  you  going  to  stand 
that  sort  of  thing,  llacrorie  ?  And  at  your 
time  of  life,  my  boy !  You,  twenty-two 
years  of  age,  six  feet  high,  and  with  your 
knowledge  of  the  world  !  You're  not  alto- 
gether an  ass,  are  you  ?  I  think  I  can  de- 
pend on  you,  my  bo)'.  You'll  stand  up  for 
your  rights.  She's  yours,  old  chap.  Cling 
to  her.  Remember  your  ancestors.  You'll 
get  her,  and  if  Jack  chooses  to  make  a  fool 
of  himself,  let  him ! " 

After  this  expression  of  opinion,  I  re- 
placed my  last  pipe  and  tumbler,  and  re- 
sumed ray  seat.  Over  my  head  the  clouds 
rolled ;  through  my  Iirain  penetrated  the 
gentle  influence,  bringing  tranquillity  and 
peace ;  bringing  also  wisdom,  and  the 
power  of  planning  and  of  resolving. 

My  reflections  made  nie  feel  that  Nora 
must  be  mine.  She  seemed  dearer  ih.an  all 
the  world,  and  all  that.  Hadn't  I  saved  Ler 
6 


life  ?  I  had.  Then  that  life  was  mine  No 
one  else  had  such  a  claim  on  her  as  I  had. 
Jack's  absurd  pretence  at  a  claim  was  all 
confounded  stuff  and  nonsense.  I  consid- 
ered his  attitude  on  this  occasion  a  piece 
of  the  worst  kind  of  selfishness,  not  to 
speak  of  its  utter  madness.  The  dog  in 
the  manger  was  nothing  to  this.  I  wan 
not  the  man  to  let  myself  be  p\ished  aside 
in  this  way.  He  would  not  have  thought 
of  her  if  I  had  not  put  in  my  claim.  Be- 
fore that  she  was  no  more  to  him  than 
"  Number  Three,"  one  of  his  tormentors 
from  whom  he  longed  to  get  free,  one  who 
annoyed  him  with  letters.  All  this  he  had 
confessed  to  me.  Yet  the  moment  that  I 
told  him  my  story,  and  informed  him  of  her 
identity  with  the  Lady  of  the  Ice,  at  once 
he  changed  about,  and  declared  he  would 
never  give  her  up. 

All  of  which  reminded  me  forcibly  of  the 
language  of  a  venerable  female  friend,  who 
used  to  hold  up  her  hands  and  exclaim, 
"  Oh,  dear !  Oh,  my  !  Oh,  the  corruption 
of  the  human  heart!  Oh,  dear!  Oh, 
my ! " 

On  the  other  hand,  I  was  not  so  blind 
but  that  I  could  see  that  Jack's  impudent 
and  ridiculous  claim  to  Jliss  O'llalloranhad 
made  her  appear  in  a  somewhat  different 
light  from  that  in  which  I  had  hitherto 
viewed  her.  Until  that  time  I  had  no 
well-defined  notions.  My  mind  vibrated 
between  her  image  and  that  of  Marion. 
But  now  Miss  O'llalloran  suddenly  became 
all  in  all  to  me.  Jack's  claim  on  her 
made  me  fully  conscious  of  my  superior 
claim,  and  this  I  determined  to  enforce 
at  all  hazards.  And  thus  the  one  end,  aim, 
and  purpose  of  my  life,  suddenly  and  almost 
instantaneously  darted  up  within  me,  and 
referred  to  making  Miss  O'llalloran  my 
own. 

But,  if  this  was  to  be  done,  I  saw  that  it 


if' 


1(1 1'vrn 


82 


TIIK  LADY  OF  THE   ICE. 


must  bo  done  quickly.  Jack's  blood  was 
up.  lie  had  declared  that  lie  would  win 
her,  and  had  departed  m  itii  thi.-^  declara- 
tion. I  knew  liiiu  well  enough  to  feel  sure 
that  his  action  would  be  prompt.  He  was 
capable  of  any  act  of  folly  or  of  despera- 
tion. If  I  could  hope  to  contend  success- 
fully against  him,  it  would  be  necessary  for 
me  to  be  as  foolish  and  as  desperate.  I 
must  go  in  for  a  headlong  game.  It  was  to 
be  a  regular  stccple-chase.  Xo  dilly-dally- 
ing— no  shuffling — no  coquetting — no  woo- 
ing —  but  Ixild,  instant,  and  immediate 
actioif.  And  why  not '!  Our  intercourse 
on  the  ice  had  been  less  than  a  day,  but 
those  hours  were  protracted  singly  to  the 
duration  of  years,  and  we  had  been  forced 
into  intimacy  by  the  peril  of  our  path  and 
the  horror  of  our  way.  We  were  beaten 
together  by  the  tempest,  rocked  by  the  ice, 
we  sank  together  in  the  wave,  together  we 
crossed  the  tottering  ice-ridge — together 
we  evaded  the  fall  of  avalanches.  Again 
and  again,  on  that  one  unparalleled  journey, 
she  had  received  her  life  from  me.  Was  all 
this  to  count  for  nothing  ?  This  !  Why, 
this  was  every  thing.  What  could  her  rec- 
ollections of  Jack  be  wlien  compared  to  her 
recollections  of  me  ?  For  one  who  came 
to  her  as  I  had  come  there  need  be  no  delay. 
Enough  to  tell  her  what  my  feelings  were 
— to  urge  and  implore  her  for  immediate 
acceptance  of  my  vows. 

This  was  my  fixed  resolve ;  but  when, 
where,  and  how  ?  I  could  not  go  to  the 
house  again  for  two  days,  and,  during  two 
days,  .Tack  would  have  the  advantage.  No 
doubt  he  would  at  once  reply  to  that  last 
letter  of  hers.  Xo  doubt  he  would  fling 
away  every  thought  but  the  one  thought  of 
her.  Xo  doubt  he  would  write  her  a  letter 
full  of  protestations  of  love,  and  implore 
her,  for  the  last  time,  to  fly  with  him.  lie 
had  done  so  before.     In  his  new  mood  he 


might  do  it  again.  T'',e  thought  made  my 
blood  run  cold.  The  more  I  dwelt  upon  it, 
the  more  confident  I  was  that  Jack  would 
do  this. 

And  what  could  I  do  ? 

One  of  two  ways  could  be  adopted  : 

First,  I  might  go  there  on  the  following 
dpy,  and  call  on  Miss  O'llalloran.  Ilcr 
father  would  be  away. 

And,  secondl}-,  I  might  write  her  a  letter. 

l!ut  neither  of  these  plans  seemed  satis- 
flictory.  In  the  first  place,  I  did  not  feel 
altogether  prepared  to  go  and  call  on  her 
for  such  a  purpose.  It  came  on  a  fellow 
too  suddenly.  In  the  second  place,  a  letter 
did  not  seem  to  be  the  proper  style  of  thing. 
The  fact  is,  when  a  fellow  seeks  a  lady,  ho 
ought  to  do  it  face  to  face,  if  possible. 

The  more  I  thought  of  it,  the  more 
strongly  I  felt  the  absolute  necessity  of 
waiting  for  those  two  days  which  should 
intervene  before  I  could  go.  Then  I  might 
go  on  a  regular  invitation.  Then  I  might 
have  an  additional  opportunity  of  finding 
out  her  sentiments  toward  me.  In  fact,  I 
concluded  to  wait. 

And  so  I  waited. 

The  two  days  passed  slowly.  Jack,  of 
course,  kept  aloof,  and  I  saw  nothing  and 
heard  nothing  of  him.  Where  he  was,  or 
what  he  was  doing,  I  could  not  tell.  I 
could  only  conjecture.  And  all  my  ron- 
jcctures  led  to  the  fixed  conviction  that 
Jack  in  his  desperation  had  written  to  her, 
and  proposed  flight. 

This  conviction  became  intensified  more 
and  more  every  hour.  I  grew  more  and 
more  impatient.  Jly  mood  became  one  of 
constant  and  incessant  fidgetiness,  nervous- 
ness, and  harrowing  suspense. 


TREMENDOUS  EXCITEMENT. 


83 


;' 


CHAriER  XXIV. 

TREMENPOrS  KXCITEMENT.  —  THE  IIOUU  AP- 
rilOACIIEt!,  ASO  WITn  IT  THE  MAS. — THE 
LADY  OF  THE  ICE. — A  TUMULTCOIS  MEET- 
ING.— oiirorr.ixo  of  tender  emotio.vh. — 

AC;iTATIO.\     OF    the    LADY. A   SUDDEN     IN- 

TERUITTION. — AN  INJURED  MAN,  AN  AWFUL, 
FEARFUL,  DIREFUL,  AND  UTTERLY-CRU.SHlN(i 
REVELATION. — WHO  IS  THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE  ? 

At  la?t  tlie  (ippointcd  evening  came,  and 
I  prepared  to  go  to  O'llalloran's.  By  tliis 
time  I  was  roused  up  to  a  pitch  of  excite- 
ment sucli  as  I  had  never  before  cxpe- 
ricuccd.  For  two  days  and  two  niglits  I 
had  been  brooding  and  dreaming  over  this 
one  subject,  imagining  all  sorts  of  things, 
making  all  sorts  of  conjectures  about 
Jack's  letter  and  Mi^s  O'llalloran's  recep- 
tion of  it.  AVas  it  possible  that  she  could 
share  his  madness  and  liis  desperation  ? 
That  I  could  not  tell.  Women  in  love,  and 
men  in  love  also,  will  always  act  madly  and 
desperately.  But  was  she  in  love  ?  Could 
that  serene,  laughing,  merry,  happy  face 
belong  to  one  who  was  capable  of  a  sudden 
act  of  desperation — of  one  who  would  flit 
with  Jack,  and  fling  her  father  into  sor- 
row at  a  moment's  warning  ?  How  could 
tliat  be  ?  So  by  turns  my  hopes  and  my 
fears  rose  in  the  ascendant,  and  the  end  of 
it  all  was  that,  by  the  time  I  reached 
O'llalloran's  door.  Jack  himself,  in  his 
most  frantic  mood,  could  not  have  been 
more  perfectly  given  up  to  any  headlong 
piece  of  rashness,  folly,  and  desperation, 
than  I  was. 

I  knocked  at  the  door. 

I  was  admitted,  and  shown  into  the 
room.  O'llalloran,  I  was  told,  had  just 
arrived,  and  was  dressing.  Would  I  be 
kind  euou.!;h  to  wait  ? 


I  sat  down. 

In  aljout  two  minutes  I  heard  a  light 
footstep, 

3[y  heart  beat  fast. 

Some  one  was  coming. 

Who  ? 

The  light  footstep  and  the  rustling  dress 
showed  that  it  was  a  lady. 

But  who  ? 

Was  it  the  servant  ? 

Or  Marion  ? 

Was  it  Xora  ? 

3Iy  heart  actually  stood  still  as  these  pos- 
sibilities suggested  themselves,  and  I  sut 
glaring  at  the  door. 

The  figure  entered. 

3[y  heart  gave  a  wild  bound;  the  blood 
surged  to  my  face,  and  boiled  in  my  veins. 
It  was  Nora's  self !  It  was — it  was — mv 
Xora ! 

I  rose  as  she  entered.  She  greeted  mo 
with  her  usual  beaminj'  and  fascinatin" 
smile.  I  took  her  hand,  and  did  not  say  a 
word  for  a  few  moments.  The  hour  had 
come.  I  was  struggling  to  speak.  Here 
she  was.  This  was  the  opportunity  for 
which  I  had  longed.  But  what  should  I 
say  ? 

"  I've  been  longing  to  see  you  alone,"  I 
cried,  at  last.  "  Have  you  forgotten  that 
day  on  the  ice?  Have  you  forgo-.ten  the 
eternal  hours  of  that  day?  Do  you  re- 
member how  you  clung  to  me  as  we  crossed 
the  ice-ridge,  while  the  waves  were  surging 
behind  us,  and  the  great  ice-heaps  came 
crashing  down  ?  Do  you  remember  how  I 
raised  you  up  as  you  fell  lifeless,  and  car- 
ried your  senseless  form,  springing  over 
the  open  channel,  and  dashing  up  the  cliff? 
And  I  lost  you,  and  now  I've  found  you 
again ! " 

I  stopped,  and  looked  at  her  earnestly,  to 
see  how  she  received  my  words. 

And  here  let  me  confess  that  such  a 


* 


h^l 


m 


84 


THE  LADY  OF  TIIK  ICE. 


i'l 


.  !  i 


moJe  of  (iJdrc.^H  was  not  generous  or  cliiv- 
nlrous,  nor  wiim  it  at  all  in  good  taste. 
True  chivalry  would  have  scorned  to  re 
mind  another  of  an  obligation  conferred ; 
but  tlien,  you  s^lm.',  this  was  a  very  peculiar 
ca.se.  In  love,  my  buy,  all  the  ordinary 
rulei  of  life,  and  that  sort  of  thing,  you 
know,  must  give  way  to  the  exigencies  of 
the  hour.  And  this  was  a  moment  of  dire 
t'xigencj",  in  which  much  had  to  be  ."^aid  in 
the  most  energetic  manner.  Beside.^,  I 
spoke  what  I  thought,  and  that's  my  chief 
excuse  after  all. 

I  stopped  and  looked  at  her ;  but,  as  I 
looked,  I  did  not  feel  reason  to  bo  satisfied 
with  my  success  so  far.  ?he  retreated  a 
step,  and  tried  to  withdraw  her  hand.  She 
looked  at  me  with  a  face  of  perplexity  and 
despair.  S^eeing  this,  I  let  go  her  hand. 
She  clasped  both  hands  together,  and 
looked  at  me  in  silence. 

"  What ! "  said  I,  tragically,  yet  sincerely 
— for  a  groat,  dark,  bitter  ilisappointment 
rose  up  within  me — "  what !  Is  all  this 
nothing  ?  Has  it  all  been  nothing  to  you  ? 
Alas  !  what  else  could  I  expect  ?  I  might 
have  known  it  all.  Xo.  You  never  thought 
of  me.  You  could  not.  I  was  le?s  than  the 
driver  to  you.  If  you  bad  thought  of  me, 
you  never  would  have  run  away  and  left 
me  when  I  was  wandering  over  the  coun- 
try thinking  only  of  you,  with  all  my  heart 
yearning  after  you,  and  seeking  only  for 
some  help  to  send  you.  And  yet  there  was 
that  in  our  journey  which  might  at  least 
have  elicited  from  you  some  word  of  sym- 
pathy." 

There  again,  my  friend,  I  was  ungener- 
ous, unchivalrous,  and  all  that.  Bad 
enough  is  it  to  remind  one  of  ftivors 
done ;  but,  on  the  heels  of  that,  to  go  de- 
liberately to  work  and  reproach  one  for 
want  of  gratitude,  is  ten  times  worse.  By 
Jove !    And  for  this,  as  for  the  other,  my 


only  excuse  is  the  exigencies  of  tlie 
hour. 

Meanwhile  she  .stood  with  an  increasing 
perplexity  and  grief  iu  every  look  ami  ges- 
ture. She  cast  at  me  a  look  of  utter  de- 
spair, She  wrung  her  hands  ;  and  at  last, 
as  I  ended,  she  exclaimed  : 

"Oh,  what  .shall  I  do?  what  shall  I  do? 
Oh,  dear !  Oh,  what  a  dreadful,  dreadful 
thing  !     Oil,  dear  !  " 

Her  evident  distress  touched  me  to  the 
heart.  Evidently,  she  was  compromised 
with  Jack,  and  was  eml)arra''Sed  by  tlii.-. 

"  Follow  your  own  heart,"  said  I,  mourn- 
fidl_v.  "  But  say — can  you  not  give  mc 
some  hope  ?  Can  you  not  give  mo  one 
kind  word  ?  " 

"Oh,  dear!"  she  cried;  "it's  dreadful. 
I  don't  know  what  to  do.  It's  all  a  mis- 
tali  o.  Oh,  I  u'lJi  you  coidd  only  know  all ! 
And  me ! !  AVhat  in  the  world  can  I 
do!" 

"  Oh,  Miss  O'llalloran !  "  said  I ;  "  I  love 
you — I  adore — you —  and — oh.  Miss  O'llal- 
loran !— I— " 

"  Miss  O'llalloran  !  "  she  cried,  starting 
back  as  I  advanced  once  more,  and  tried  to 
take  her  hand. 

"  Xoni,  then,"  said  I.  "  Dearest,  sweet- 
est !  You  cannot  be  indifferent.  Oh, 
Nora  !  "  and  I  grasped  her  hand. 

But  at  that  moment  I  was  startled  by  a 
heavy  footstep  at  the  door.  I  dropped 
Nora's  hand,  which  she  herself  snatched 
away,  and  turned. 

It  was  O'Halloran  ! ! ! ! ! 

He  stood  for  a  moment  looking  at  us, 
and  then  he  burst  out  into  a  roar  of  laugh- 
ter. 

"  Macroric  !  "  he  cried — "  jracrorie !  May 
the  divil  saize  mc  if  I  don't  beleeve  that 
j-e're  indulgin'  in  gallanthries." 

Now,  at  that  moment,  his  laughter  soimd- 
cd  harsh  and  ominous  ;  but  I  had  done  no 


! 


RECOVERY  FEOM  TU£  LaVST  GKEAT  SHOCK. 


85 


wrong,  nnd  so,  in  conscious  Innoieiico,  I 
said: 

"Mr.  O'llnllornn,  you  are  right  in  your 
conjecture;  b\it  I  assure  you  that  it  was  no 
mere  gallantry ;  for,  sir,  I  Imve  a  strong 
nllection  for  !Miss  O'lIuUoran,  and  have  just 
nskeil  lur  for  her  hand." 

"J/m  O'Halloran!"  cried  he.  "J//ss 
O'llallornn  !  Sure,  why  diiln't  ye  nsk  hcr- 
silf,  thin,  like  a  man  ?  " 

"  Oh,  dear  !  "  cried  Nora,  taking  O'llallo- 
ran's  arm,  and  tm-ning  her  beautiful,  plead- 
ing face  up  to  his — "oh,  dear!  It's  all  a 
dreadful,  dreadful  mistake.  lie  doesn't 
know  who  I  nni.  He  thinks  that  /  am 
Miss  O'iralloran." 

"  You  !  "  I  critd.  "  You  !  Why,  are  you 
not  ?  Of  course,  you  are.  Who  else  arc 
you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  tell  him,  tell  him ! "  cried  Xora. 
"  It's  so  dreadful !  Such  a  horrid,  horrid 
mistake  to  make !  " 

A  bright  light  flashed  all  over  O'llallo- 
ran's  face.  He  looked  at  me,  and  then  at 
Xora ;  and  then  there  came  forth  a  peal  of 
hwighter  which  would  liave  done  honor  to 
any  of  the  gods  at  the  Olympian  table. 
This  time  the  laughter  was  pure,  nnd  fresh, 
and  joyous,  and  free. 

"  Jlins  O'llalloran  !  "  he  cried—"  ha,  ha, 
ha,  ha,  ha !  Jim  O'Halloran  !  ha,  ha,  ha, 
ha,  ha!  J/ws  O'Halloran!  Oh,  be  the 
powers,  it's  me  that'll  nivir  get  over  that 
same  !  Jfiss  O'Halloran  !  An'  givin'  wee 
to  sintimint — ha,  ha,  ha,  ha,  ha  !  an'  askin' 
for  riciproceetee  av'  tindir  attachmint — ha, 
ha,  ha,  ha,  ha !  What  in  the  woide  wurruld 
ivir  injuiced  ye  to  think  that  me  own  little 
Nora  was  Jfiss  O'Halloran  ?  " 

"Miss  O'Halloran?  Why,"  said  I, 
"  what  else  could  I  suppose  ?  I  recollect 
now,  when  you  introduced  me  the  other 
night,  you  didn't  mention  her  name ;  and, 
if  she  isn't  Miss  O'Halloran,  who  is  she  ? 


Let  nic  know  now,  at  least.  Hut  my  senti- 
ments remain  the  same,"  I  concluded, 
"  whatever  name  she  has." 

"The  divull  they  do!"  said  O'Halloran, 
with  a  grin.  "  Well,  thin,  the  fpiieker  yo 
checngo  yer  siutimints,  the  betthcr.  Mo 
own  Xora — she's  not  Mlsa  O'Halloran — an' 
lueky  for  me — she's  soraethin'  ))etther — 
she's— illl.S.  O'HALLORAX  ! ! !  " 

Let  the  curtain  fall.  There,  reader,  you 
have  it.  We  won't  attempt  to  enlarge — 
will  we  ?  We'll  oiuit  the  exploding  thun- 
der-bolt— won't  we  ?  I  will  quietly  put  an 
end  to  this  chapter,  so  as  to  give  you  leisure 
to  meditate  over  the  woes  of  Macrorie. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

KECOVERY    FItOM    THE    LAST    GRKAT   SHOCK. — 
GKNTALITY    OP     MINE     HOST.  —  OFF     AGAIN 

AMONG     ANTKiriTIES. THE     FENIANS. — A 

STARTLIXO  REVELATION  BY  ONE  OF  THE 
INNER  CIRCLE.  —  POLITICS,  POETRY,  AND 
PATHOS, — FAU-REACIIING  PLANS  AND  DEEP- 
SE.VTKD    PURPOSES. 

I  WAS  to  dine  with  O'Halloran,  and, 
though  for  some  time  I  was  overwhelmed, 
yet  I  rallied  rapidly,  and  soon  recovered. 
O'Halloran  himself  was  full  of  fun.  The 
event  had  apparently  only  excited  his  laugh- 
ter, and  appeared  to  him  as  affording  mate- 
rial for  nothing  else  than  endless  chalT  and 
nonsense. 

As  for  X^'ora,  she  had  been  so  agitated 
that  she  did  not  come  to  dinner,  nor  did 
Marion  make  her  appearance.  This  was 
the  only  thing  that  gave  me  discomfort. 
O'Halloran  seemed  to  understand  how  natu- 
ral my  mistake  was,  and  I  supposed  that 
he  made  every  allowance,  and  all  that. 

We  sat  at  table  for  a  long  time.  O'Hal- 
loran discoursed  on  his  usual  variety  of  sub- 


if 


■:|i 

ij 

!ll' 


80 


THE  LADY   OF  TIIH  lOE. 


jccts.  Somi'tliing  opciirroil  wliieli  sii;.'r;of<t- 
cil  the  Fenian.'',  whcrL'npou  lio  suddenly 
btii|H)cd;  aiul,  looking  earnestly  at  luc,  ho 
said: 

"Ye  know  I'm  a  Fenian?" 

"Oil,  yes." 

"  1  make  no  saycrit  of  it,"  said  ho.  "  As 
a  IJriiish  (inrieer,  you're  my  mortal  inimco 
in  my  capaeeeteo  as  a  Fenian  ;  but  at  this 
table,  and  in  this  houso,  we're  iiayther  ono 
tiling  nor  the  other.  Y'ou'ro  only  Macrorio, 
and  Fm  only  O'llalloran.  Still  I  don't  mind 
talking  of  tlio  subject  of  Fenianisin;  it's 
an  important  cne,  and  will  one  day  take  up 
a  great  speece  in  histhdry.  I  don't  intind 
to  indulge  in  any  oflinsivo  objurgcctions 
agcenst  the  Saxon,  nor  will  I  niintion  the 
wrongs  of  Oirelaiid.  Fll  only  enloighten 
you  as  to  the  purpose,  the  maining,  and  the 
attichood  of  the  Fenian  ordher." 

"With  these  words  lie  rose  from  the  table, 
and  cliatted  on  general  subjects,  while  the 
servants  brought  in  the  spoons,  glasses, 
tumblers,  and  several  other  things.  Be- 
neath the  genial  influence  of  these,  O'llal- 
loran soon  grew  eloquent,  and  resumed  his 
remarks  on  the  Fenians. 

"  The  Fenian  ordher,"  he  began,  "  has 
two  cems.  One  is  abroad  ;  the  other  is  at 
homo. 

"  The  first  is  that  whieh  is  kipt  before 
the  oyes  of  the  mimbcrs  of  the  outher  cir- 
cles. It  manes  the  libcreetion  of  Oiicland, 
and  perpitual  inmity  to  England.  This  pur- 
pose has  its  maiiecfesteetion  in  the  attacks 
whieh  have  alriddy  been  made  on  the  ini- 
my.  Two  inveesions  have  been  made  on 
Canada.  Innumerable  and  multeefeerious 
fiuall  interproises  have  been  set  on  fut  in 
Oireland  and  in  England ;  and  those  things 
serve  the  purpose  of  keeping  before  the 
moinds  of  the  inimbers  the  prospict  of  some 
grand  attack  on  the  inimy,  and  of  foirin' 
their  ardhor. 


"  Hut  there  is  an  innermost  circle,  say- 
eluilhid  from  the  vulvar  oi,  uiidher  the 
chootehir  prayiminencc  of  min  of  janius,  in 
whoso  moinds  there  is  a  very  different  com. 
It  is  the  second  which  I  have  mliitionod. 
It  is  dlricthld  against  America. 

"  Thus— 

"  111  the  American  raypublie  there  are 
foive  millions  of  Oirish  vothers.  Now,  if 
these  foive  millions  cud  only  bo  unoited  in 
one  homojaneous  congroegection,  for  some 
ono  prayiininent  objiet,  they  cud  aisly  rule 
the  counthree,  an'  dirict  its  policee  intoiro- 
ly,  at  homo  and  abroad. 

"  This,  thin,  is  the  thrue  and  gcnuoine 
ccm  of  the  shuparior  min  of  the  intayrior 
circles.  It  is  a  grand  an'  coniprayliinsivo 
schaymo  to  consoleedoelo  all  the  Oirish 
votes  into  one  ovorwhilming  mass  which 
can  conthrol  all  the  ilictions.  It  is  sweed 
by  a  few  min  of  praysoiding  moinds  and 
shupayrior  janius. 

"And  hince  you  bayhowhl  a  systim  rois- 
ing  within  tho  boosom  of  the  American  ray- 
public,  which  will  soon  be  grcather  thin  the 
raypublie  itself.  At  prisint,  thougli,  we  do 
not  numl)er  much  over  a  million.  But  we 
are  incraysing.  Wo  have  hoigldy-niulti- 
feerious  raysoureis.  All  the  hi^jis  are  in 
our  pee.  These  are  our  spoys.  They  in- 
farrum  us  of  all  the  saycrit  doings  of  the 
American  payple.  They  bring  constiut 
accisions  to  our  numbers.  They  meek  us 
sure  of  our  future. 

"  Oirishmin,"  he  continued,  "  will  nivir 
roisc  ifHkeociouslee  in  Oireland.  They  can 
only  roise  in  Amirica.  Here,  in  this  coun- 
tliry,  is  their  only  chance.  And  this  ciiance 
we  have  sayzed,  an',  begorra,  we'll  follow  it 
up  till  all  Amirica  is  domeeneetid  by  the 
Oirish  ilimint,  and  ruled  by  Oirish  votes. 
This  is  the  only  Oirish  raypublie  for  which 
we  care." 

"  But  you've  been  divided  in  your  couu- 


W" ' 


'   COllU- 


!!.i) 


^:f    Ir 


\.l 


'i 

I  i 


\    i! 


Hll 


I 


EECOVEEY  FROM  THE  LAST  GREAT  SHOCK. 


!:</ 


sels,"  I  suggested.     "Did'ut  this  interfere 
with  your  prospects  V  " 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  "  that  was  all  our  diplom- 
eocee." 

"And  were  you  never  i^ally divided?" 

"  Xivir  for  a  momint.  These  were  only 
thricks  intindid  to  disavc  and  schtoopcefy 
the  Amirican  and  English  governniint?." 

"  So  your  true  aim  refers  to  America?  " 

"Yis.  And  wo  intind  to  snycure  to 
Amirica  a  perpetual  succession  of  Oirish 
prisidints." 

"  When  will  you  be  able  to  begin  ?  At 
the  next  election  ?  " 

"  Xo — not  so  soon.  Xot  for  two  or  three 
to  come.  liy  the  third  eliction  thougli,  all 
the  Oirish  populcetiou  will  be  riddy  to  vote, 
and  thin  we'll  have  our  oun  Oirish  Prisi- 
dlnt.  And  afther  that,"  said  O'llalloraii, 
in  an  oracular  tone,  and  pausing  to  quafl' 
the  transparent  draught  —  "afther  that, 
Amirica  will  be  simplec  an  Oirish  rapublic. 
Then  we'll  cast  our  oys  across  the  say. 
■\Yc'll  cast  there  our  arrums.  AYe'll  sind 
there  our  flates  and  armies.  We'll  take 
vingince  out  of  the  Sasou  for  the  wrongs 
of  foive  cinturies.  We'll  adopt  Quid  Oire- 
land  into  the  fameclce  of  the  Stcetos,  as  the 
youngest,  but  the  fairist  and  the  broightist 
of  thim  all.  We'll  throw  our  laygions 
across  the  Oirish  Channel  into  the  land  of 
the  Saxon,  and  bring  that  counthry  down 
to  its  proimayval  insignifeecancc.  That," 
said  Ollalloran,  "  is  the  one  schtoopindous 
eem  of  the  Fcniau  Ordher." 

O'llalloran  showed  deep  emotion.  Once 
more  he  quaffed  the  restoring  draught. 

"  Yis,  me  boy,"  he  said,  looking  tenderly 
at  me.  "  I'll  yit  return  to  the  owld  hnd. 
Perhaps  ye'U  visit  the  ceged  O'llalloran 
before  he  doise.  Oi'll  tcok  up  me  risidince 
at  Dublin.  Oi'll  show  yc  Oireland — free — 
troiumphint,  shuprame  among  the  ncetions. 
Oi'll  show  ye  our  noble  pisintry,  the  foinist 


in  the  wurruld.  Oi'll  take  yo  to  thcRoton- 
do.  Oi'll  show  ye  the  Rlarney-stone.  Oi'll 
show  yc  the  ruins  of  Tara,  where  me  oun 
aneisthors  once  reigned." 

At  this  his  emotion  overcame  him,  and 
he  was  once  more  obliged  to  seek  a  resto- 
rative. 

After  this  he  vohmtecrcd  to  sing  a  song, 
and  trolled  off  the  following  to  a  lively, 
rollicking  air : 

"  '  Yo  choonfiil  Noiiio ! 

Yc  nymphs  dcvoine, 
Stiuprame  in  Jove's  domiuions  I 

Assist  me  loyre, 

Whoile  oi  aspoiro 
To  cilibrect  the  Fenians. 

"  'Our  orilhcr  bowld 

All  onconthrowled 
Injucd  with  power,  he  dad,  is 

To  plccco  in  nrninis 

The  stnlwart  farrums 
Of  half  a  million  Paddies. 

"  '  To  Saxon  laws 

For  Oirelaiid's  cause 
Thim  same  did  break  allaygiancc, 

An'  marched  away 

In  war's  array 
To  froighten  the  Canajiaus. 

"  'Wo  soon  intind 

Our  wee  to  wind 
Across  the  woido  Atlantic, 

Bcsnigo  the  ports, 

Blow  up  the  forts, 
An'  droivo  the  Saxon  frantic. 

" '  An'  thin  in  loine, 

Our  hosts  will  join 
Beneath  the  Oirish  pinnint, 

Till  Dublin  falls. 

An'  on  its  walls 
Wo  hang  the  lord-liftinnir  i:. 

"  'The  Snxon  crew 

We'll  thin  purshoo 
Judiciously  and  calmly — 

On  Windsor's  plain 

We'll  hang  the  Quaue 
An'  all  the  royal  family. 


■01 


88 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


0 


I   I 


ill 


*  ( 


Iji^if 


" '  Au'  (hln— bcgob  I 

Ko  more  they'll  rob 
Ould  Oiroliuid  of  her  taxes, 

Au'  Eiirlh  Klmll  rowl 

From  powl  to  powl 
More  aUy  on  its  axis.' " 

Xow  all  the  time  O'Uallorau  was  talk- 
ing and  singing,  I  liaJ  scarcely  heard  a 
word  that  he  said.  Once  I  caught  the  gen- 
eral run  of  his  remarks,  and  said  a  few 
words  to  make  him  think  I  was  attending ; 
but  my  thoughts  soon  wandered  olT,  and  I 
v.-as  quite  unconscious  tliat  he  was  talking 
rank  treason.  How  do  I  know  so  much 
about  it  now,  it  may  be  asked.  To  this  I 
reply  that  after-circumstanees  gave  me  full 
information  about  was  said  and  sung.  And 
of  this  the  above  Avill  give  a  general  idea. 

But  my  thoughts  were  on  far  other  sub- 
jects than  I'enianisni.  It  was  the  Lady  of 
the  Ice  that  lilled  my  heart  and  my  mind. 
Lost  and  found,  and  lost  again  !  With  me 
it  was  nothing  but — "  0  Xora  !  Xora  ! 
Wherefore  art  thou,  Xora '?  " — and  all  that 
sort  of  thing,  you  knov,'. 

Lost  and  found  !  Lost  and  found !  A 
capital  title  for  a  sensation  novel,  but  a  bad 
thing,  my  boy,  to  be  ringing  through  a  poor 
devil's  brain.  Xow,  through  my  brain  there 
rang  that  identical  refrain,  and  nothing  else. 
And  all  my  thoughts  and  words  the  melan- 
choly burden  bore  of  never — never  more. 
How  could  I  enjoy  the  occasion  ?  What 
was  conviviahty  to  me,  or  I  to  convivial- 
ity ?  O'llalloran's  words  were  unheeded 
and  unheard.  While  Xora  was  near,  he 
used  to  seem  a  brilliant  being,  but  Xora 
was  gone ! 

And  why  had  she  gone  ?  Why  had  she 
been  so  cut  up  '>  I  had  said  but  little,  and 
my  mistake  had  been  hushed  up  by  O'Hal- 
loran's  laughter.  Why  had  she  retired? 
And  why,  when  I  spoke  to  her  of  my  love, 
had  she  showed  such  cttraordiuarv  agita- 


tion? Vras  it — oh,  was  it  that  she  too 
loved,  not  wisely  but  too  well  ?  0  Xora ! 
Oh,  my  Lady  of  the  Ice !  Well  did  you  say 
it  was  a  dreadful  mistake  !  Oh,  mistake — 
irreparable,  despairing  !  And  could  I  never 
see  her  sweet  face  again  ? 

By  this,  which  is  a  pretty  fair  specimen 
of  my  thoughts,  it  will  be  plainly  seen  that 
I  was  in  a  very  agitated  frame  of  mind, 
and  still  clung  as  fondly  and  as  frantically 
as  ever  to  my  one  idea  of  the  Lady  of  the 
Ice. 

One  thing  came  amid  my  thoughts  like 
a  flash  of  light  into  darkness,  and  that  was 
that  Jack,  at  least,  was  not  crossing  my 
path,  nor  was  ho  a  dog  in  my  manger ;  Miss 
O'llalloran  might  be  his,  but  she  was  noth- 
ing to  me.  AVho  Miss  O'llalloran  was,  I 
now  fully  understood.  It  was  Marion — 
Marion  with  the  sombre,  sad  foce,  and  the 
piercing,  lustrous  eyes. 

Well,  be  she  who  she  might,  she  was  no 
longer  standing  between  Jack  and  me.  I 
could  regain  my  lost  friend  at  any  rate.  I 
could  explain  every  thing  to  him.  I  could 
easily  anticipate  the  wild  shrieks  of  laugh- 
ter with  which  he  would  greet  my  mistake, 
but  that  mattered  not.  I  was  determiucd 
to  hunt  him  up.  All  my  late  bitter  feeling 
against  him  vanished,  and  I  began  to  feel 
a  kind  of  longing  for  his  great  broad  brow, 
his  boyish  carelessness,  his  never-ending 
blunders.  So  at  an  early  hour  I  rose,  and 
informed  O'llalloran  that  I  had  an  engage- 
ment at  eleven  o'clock,  and  would  have  to 
start. 

"  It's  sorry  I  am,"  said  he,  "  but  I  won't 
dcteen  ye." 


A  FEW  PARTING  WORDS   WITH  D'HALLOBAN. 


SO 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

A  FEW  PAUTI.Na  WORDS  WITH  O'lIALLORAX. — 
HIS  TOCCHIXG  PAUKNTAL  TEXDEnXESS,  HIGH 
CIIIVALniC  SENTIMENT,  AND  LOFTY  SENSE 
OF  HONOR. — PISTOLS  FOB  TWO. — PLEASANT 
AND  HAUMONIOIS  ARRANGEMENT.  —  "  ME 
DOT,   YE'uE  an   HONOR  TO  TER  SEX  !  " 

"  It's  sorry  1  am,"  said  O'llalloran,  "  but 
I  won't  detccn  ye,  for  I  always  rispict  an 
engecgemint." 

lie  stopped  and  looked  at  mc  with  a  be- 
nevolent smile.  I  had  risen  from  my  chair, 
and  was  standing  before  him. 

"  Sit  down  a  niominl,"  said  ho.  "  There's 
a  subjict  I  wish  to  mintion,  the  considherce- 
tion  of  which  I've  postponed  till  now." 

I  resumed  my  seat  in  some  surprise. 

"  lie  boy,"  said  he,  in  a  tender  and  pater- 
nal voice,  "  it's  now  toime  for  me  to  speak 
to  ye  about  the  ayvint  of  which  I  was  a 
casual  oi-witniss.  I  refer  to  your  addhrissis 
to  me  woife.  Don't  inthcrrupt  me.  I  com- 
prayhind  the  whole  matter.  The  Icedies 
are  all  fond  of  yo.  So  they  are  of  mo. 
Yc'ro  a  divvil  of  a  follow  with  them — an' 
so  am  I.  We  comprayhind  one  another. 
You  see  we  must  have  a  niayting." 

"  A  meeting  ! " 

"  Vis — of  coorse.  A  jool.  There's  noth- 
ing else  to  be  done." 

"  You  understand,"  said  I,  "  of  course, 
the  nature  of  ray  awkward  mistake,  and  the 
cause  of  it." 

"  Don't  mintion  it.  lie  ondhorstiind  ? 
Of  coorse.  Am  I  an  owl  ?  Be  dud,  I 
nivir  laughed  so  mnch  these  tin  years. 
Ondherstandl  Every  bit  of  it.  But  we 
won't  have  any  expleencetions  about  that. 
What  concerns  ns  is  the  code  of  honor, 
and  the  jewty  of  gintlemin.  A  rigid  sinse 
of  honor,  and  a  shuprame  reygard  for  the 


sanctcties  of  loife,  requoire  that  any  voio- 
Icetion,  howivir  onintintional,  be  submitted 
and  subjictod  to  the  only  tribunal  of  chiv- 
airy — the  ecncient  and  maydoayval  orjil  of 
the  jool." 

I  confess  I  was  atfectcd,  and  deeply,  by 
the  lofty  attitude  which  O'llalloran  assumed. 
lie  hadn't  the  slightest  hard  feeling  toward 
me.  He  wasn't  in  the  smallest  degree  jeal- 
ous. He  was  simply  a  calm  adherent  to  a 
lofty  and  chivalrous  code.  His  honor  had 
been  touched  iguorantly,  no  doubt — yet 
still  it  had  been  touched,  and  he  saw  no 
other  course  to  follow  than  the  one  laid 
down  by  chivalry. 

"  My  friend,"  said  I,  enthusiastically,  "  I 
appreciate  your  delicacy,  and  your  lofty  sen- 
timent. This  is  true  chivalry.  You  sur- 
pass yourself.     You  are  sublime !  " 

"  I  know  I  am,"  said  O'llalloran,  naively. 

A  tear  trembled  in  his  eye.  He  did  not 
seek  to  conceal  his  generous  emotion.  That 
tear  rolled  over  and  dropped  into  his  tum- 
bler, and  hallowed  the  draught  therein. 

"  So  then,"  said  I,  "  we  are  to  have  a 
meeting — but  where,  and  when  V  " 

"  Whinivir  it  shoots  you,  and  wherivir. 
I'm  afraid  it'll  take  you  out  of  your  wee. 
AVc'll  have  to  go  off  about  twinty  moiles. 
There's  a  moighty  conva3'nient  place  there, 
I'm  sorry  it's  not  nayrer,  but  it  can't  bo 
helped.  I've  had  three  or  fower  maytings 
there  mesilf  this  last  year.  You'll  be  dc- 
loighted  with  it  whin  you  once  get  there. 
There's  good  whiskey  there  too.  The  best 
iu  the  country.     We'll  go  there." 

"  And  when  ?  " 

"  Well,  well — the  seconds  may  areengo 
about  that.     IIow'll  nixt  5Ionday  do  ?  " 

"  Delightfully,  if  it  suits  you." 

"  Oh,  I'll  be  shooted  at  any  toime." 

"  What  shall  we  meet  with  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Sure  that's  for  j-ou  to  decoide." 

"  Pistols,"  I  suggested. 


90 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


O'llftlloran  nodded. 

"  I  really  Lave  no  preference.  I'll  leave 
it  to  you  if  you  like,"  said  I. 

O'llalloran  rose — a  benevolent  amllc  illu- 
mined his  face.     ITo  pressed  my  hand. 

"  Me  boy,"  said  he,  with  the  same  pater- 
nal tone  which  he  had  thus  fur  maintained, 
"  don't  miution  it.  Aihtcr  will  do.  We'll 
say  pistols.  Mo  bo)',  ye're  as  thnic  as 
steel — "  lie  paused,  and  then  wringing  my 
hand,  he  said  in  a  voice  tremulous  with 
emotion — "  Mo  boy,  ye're  an  honor  to  yer 
sex ! " 

CHAPTER   XXVII. 

SENSATIONAL  ! — TEmtlFIC  ! — TREMEXnOrS  ! — I 
LEAVE  THE  n0l"SE  IN  A  STRANGE  WHIRL. 
— A  STORM. — THE  DRIVING  PLEET. — I  WAN- 
DER  ABOn. THE   VOICES    OE    THE    STORM, 

AND  OF  THE  RIVER. — THE  CLANGOR  OF  THE 
DELLS. — THE  SHADOW  IN  THE  DOORWAY. — 
THE   MYSTERIOUS    COMPANION. — A  TERUIDLE 

WALK. — FAMILIAR    VOICES. SINKING     INTO 

SENSELESSNESS. — THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE  IS 
REVEALED  AT   LAST  AMID  THE   STORM  ! 

As  I  left  the  house  there  camo  a  blast 
of  stinging  sleet,  which  showed  me  that  it 
was  a  wild  niglit.  It  was  not  many  days 
now  since  that  memorable  journey  on  the 
river;  and  the  storm  that  was  blowing 
seemed  to  be  the  counterpart  and  con- 
tinuation of  tliat.  It  had  boon  overcast 
when  I  entered  O'llalloran's ;  when  I  left 
it,  the  storm  had  gatherid  up  into  fury,  and 
the  wind  howled  around,  and  the  furious 
sleet  dashed  itself  fiercely  against  me.  The 
street  was  deserted.  Xone  would  go  out 
on  so  wild  a  night.  It  was  after  eleven ; 
half-past,  perhaps. 

For  a  moment  I  turned  my  back  to  the 
sleet,  and  then  drew  forth  my  cloud  from 
my  pocket,  and  bound  it  about  my  head. 


Thus  prepared,  and  thus  armed,  I  was  ready 
to  encounter  the  fiercest  sleet  that  ever 
blew.  I  went  down  the  steps,  took  the 
sidewalk,  and  went  off. 

As  I  went  on,  my  mind  was  filled  with 
many  thoughts.  A  duel  was  before  me ; 
but  I  gave  that  no  consideration.  The 
storm  howled  about  and  shrieked  between 
the  houses;  but  the  storm  was  nothing. 
Tl'.ere  was  that  in  my  heart  and  in  my 
brain  which  made  all  these  things  trivial. 
It  was  the  image  of  my  Lady  of  the  Ice, 
and  the  great  longing  after  her,  which,  for 
the  past  few  days,  had  steadily  increased. 

I  had  found  her  !  I  had  lost  her !  Lost 
and  found  !    Found  and  lost ! 

The  wrath  of  the  storm  had  only  this 
one  effect  on  me,  that  it  brought  before  me 
with  greater  vividness  the  events  of  that 
memorable  day  on  the  river.  Through 
such  a  storm  we  had  forced  our  way. 
From  such  pitiless  peltinga  of  stinging 
sleet  I  had  sheltered  her  fainting,  drooping 
head.  This  was  the  hurricane  that  had 
howled  about  her  as  she  lay  prostrate, 
upheld  in  my  arms,  which  hurled  its 
wrathful  showers  on  her  white,  upturned 
face.  From  this  I  had  saved  her,  and  from 
worse — f'""ii  the  grinding  ice,  the  falling 
avalancl  .,  the  dark,  deep,  cold,  freezing 
flood.  I  had  brought  her  back  to  Ufa 
through  all  these  perils,  and  now — and 
now  ! — 

Is'ow,  for  that  Lady  of  the  Ice,  whoso 
image  was  brought  up  before  me  by  the 
tempest  and  the  storm,  there  arose  within 
me  a  mighty  and  irrepressible  yearning. 
She  had  become  identified  with  Nora,  but 
yet  it  was  not  Nora's  face  and  Nora's  image 
that  dwelt  within  my  mind.  Tliat  smiling 
face,  with  its  sparkling  eyes  and  its  witch- 
ing smile,  was  another  thing,  and  seemed  to 
belong  to  another  person.  It  was  not  Nora 
herself  whom  I  had  loved,  but  Nora  as  she 


SENSATIONAL  !— TERRIFIC  1-TREMENDOUS ! 


91 


stood  the  representative  of  my  Lady  of  the 
Ice.  Moreover,  I  had  seen  Nora  in  un- 
feigned distress ;  I  had  seen  her  wringing 
her  hands  and  looking  at  me  with  piteous 
entreaty  and  despair;  but  even  the  power 
of  these  strong  emotions  had  not  given  her 
the  face  that  Iiauntcd  me,  Nora  on  tlie 
ice  and  Nora  at  home  were  so  different, 
that  they  could  not  harmonize ;  nor  could 
the  never-to-be-forgotten  lineaments  of  the 
one  be  traced  in  the  other.  And,  could 
Nora  now  have  been  with  mc  in  this 
storm,  1  doubted  whether  her  face  could 
again  assume  that  marble,  statuesque  beau- 
ty— that  immortal  sadness  and  despair, 
which  I  had  once  seen  upon  it.  That 
face — the  true  face  that  I  loved — could  I 
ever  sec  it  again  ? 

I  breasted  the  storra  and  walked  on  I 
knew  not  where.  At  last  I  found  myself 
on  the  Esplanade.  Beneath  lay  the  river, 
vvhich  could  not  now  be  seen  through  the 
blackness  of  the  storm  and  of  the  night, 
but  which,  through  that  blackness,  sent 
forth  a  voice  from  all  its  waves.  And  the 
wind  wailed  mournfully,  mingling  its  voice 
with  that  of  the  river.  So  once  before  had 
rushing,  dashing  water  joined  its  uproar 
to  the  howl  of  pitiless  winds,  when  I  bore 
her  over  the  river ;  only  on  that  occasion 
there  was  joined  in  the  horrid  chorus  the 
more  fearful  boom  of  the  breaking  ice- 
fields. 

And  now  the  voice  of  the  river  only  in- 
creased and  intensified  that  longing  of 
which  I  have  spoken.  I  could  not  go 
homo.  I  thought  of  going  back  again  to 
O'llalloran's  house.  There  was  my  Lady 
of  the  Ice — Nora.  I  might  see  her  shadow 
on  the  window — I  might  seo  a  light  from 
her  room. 

Now  Nora  had  not  at  all  come  up  to  my 
ideal  of  the  Lady  of  the  Ice,  and  yet  there 
was  no  other  representative.     I  might  be 


mad  in  love  with  an  image,  a  shadow,  an 
idea  ;  but  if  that  image  existed  anywhere  in 
real  life,  it  cou'd  exist  only  in  Nora.  And 
thus  Nora  gained  from  my  image  an  attrac- 
tiveness, which  she  never  could  have  had  in 
her  own  right.  It  was  her  identity  with 
that  haunting  image  of  loveliness  that  gave 
her  such  a  charm.  The  charm  was  an  ima- 
ginary one.  Had  I  never  found  her  on  the 
river  and  idealized  her,  she  mi^ht  have 
gained  my  admiration  ;  but  she  would 
never  have  thrown  over  me  such  a  spell. 
But  now,  whatever  she  was  in  herself,  she 
was  so  merged  in  that  ideal,  that  in  my 
longing  for  my  love  I  turned  my  steps 
backward  and  wandered  toward  O'llallo- 
ran's, with  the  frantic  hope  of  seeing  her 
shadow  on  the  window,  or  a  ray  of  light 
from  her  room.  For  I  could  find  no  otlier 
way  than  this  of  satisfying  those  insatia- 
ble longings  that  had  sprung  up  within 
me. 

So  back  I  went  through  the  storm,  which 
seemed  still  to  increase  in  fury,  and  througli 
the  sleet,  which  swept  in  long  horizontal 
lines  down  the  street,  and  whirled  round 
the  corner,  and  froze  fast  to  the  houses. 
As  I  went  on,  the  violence  of  the  storm  did 
not  at  all  weaken  my  purpose.  I  had  my 
one  idea,  and  that  one  idea  I  was  bent  on 
carrying  out. 

Under  such  circumstances  I  approached 
the  house  of  O'llalloran.  I  don't  know 
what  I  expected,  or  whether  I  expected  any 
thing  or  not.  I  know  what  I  wanted.  I 
wanted  the  Lady  of  the  Ice,  and  in  search 
of  her  I  had  thus  wandered  back  to  that 
house  in  which  lived  the  one  with  whom 
she  had  been  identified.  A  vague  idea  of 
seeing  her  shadow  on  the  window  still  pos- 
sessed me,  and  so  I  kept  along  on  the  oppo- 
site sidewalk,  and  looked  up  to  see  if  there 
was  any  light  or  any  shadow. 

There  was  no  lisht  at  all. 


1^ 


ill 

m 


92 


THE  LADY  OF  TUE  ICE. 


(I"  1'  I 


Jll 


u 


\U 


'.■■    I 


I  Stood  still  and  gnzod. 

Was  there  a  shadow  ?  Or  what  was  it  ? 
There  Avas  something  moving  there — a 
dark,  dusky  shadow,  in  a  niche  of  the  gate- 
waj',  by  the  corner  of  tlie  house — a  dark 
shadow,  dimly  revealed  in  tliis  gloom — the 
shadowy  outline  of  a  woman's  form, 

I  do  not  know  what  mad  idea  possessed 
me.  I  looked,  while  my  heart  beat  fa>?t 
and  painfully,  A  wild  idea  of  the  Lady 
of  the  Ice  coming  to  mo  again,  amid  the 
storm,  to  be  again  my  companion  through 
the  storm,  flashed  like  lightning  through 
my  brain, 

Suddcnl}',  wild  and  clear  and  clanging, 
there  came  the  toll  of  a  bell  from  a  neigh- 
boring tower,  as  it  began  to  strike  the  hour 
of  midnight.  For  a  moment  I  paused  in  a 
sort  of  superstitious  terror,  and  then,  be- 
fore the  third  stroke  had  rung  out,  I  rushed 
across  the  street. 

The  figure  had  been  Avatching  me. 

As  I  came,  she  started,  She  hurried  for- 
ward,*and  met  mc  at  the  curb.  With  a 
wild  rush  of  joy  and  exultation,  I  caught 
her  in  my  arms.  I  felt  her  frame  tremble. 
At  length  she  disengaged  herself  and 
caught  my  arm  with  a  convulsive  claisp, 
and  drew  me  away.  Iff  li.miealh-,  and 
witli  no  fixed  idea  of  any  ;)d,  I  walked 
off. 

She  walked  slowly.  In  that  fierce  gale, 
rapid  progress  was  not  possible.  She, 
however,  was  well  protected  from  the  blast. 
A  cloud  was  wrapped  around  her  head,  and 
kept  her  face  from  the  storm. 

We  walked  on,  and  I  felt,  my  heart  throb 
to  suffocation,  while  my  brain  reeled  with 
a  thousand  new  and  wild  fancies.  Amid 
these,  something  of  my  late  superstition 
still  lingered. 

"  Who  is  she  ? "  I  wondered ;  "  Who  is 
she  ?  How  did  she  happen  to  wait  for  me 
here  ?     Is  it  my  Lady  of  the  Ice  ?    Am  I  a 


haunted  man?  Will  she  always  thus  como 
to  me  in  the  storm,  and  leave  me  when  the 
storm  is  over?  AVhere  am  I  ts^^ing  ? 
Whither  is  she  leading  me  ?  Is  she  taking 
mc  back  to  the  dark  river  from  which  I 
saved  her  ? " 

Then  I  struggled  against  the  supersti- 
tious fancy,  and  rallied  and  tried  to  think 
calmly  about  it.   i 

"  Yes.  It's  Nora,"  I  thought ;  "  it's  her- 
self. She  loves  me.  This  was  the  cause  of 
her  distress.  And  that  distress  has  over- 
mastered her.  She  has  been  unable  to  en- 
duie  my  departure.  She  has  been  con- 
vinced that  I  would  return,  and  has  waited 
for  me, 

"Xora!  Yes,  Xora  !  Xora  !  But, 
Xora !  what  is  this  that  I  am  doing  ? 
This  Xora  can  never  be  mine.  She  bo- 
longs  to  another.  She  was  mine  only 
through  my  mistake,  Ifow  can  she  hope 
to  be  mine,  or  how  can  I  hope  to  bo  hers  ? 
And  why  is  it  that  I  can  dare  thus  to  take 
her  to  ruin  ?     Can  I  have  the  heart  to  ? " 

I  paused  involuntarily,  as  the  full  horror 
of  this  idea  burst  upon  me.  For,  divested 
of  all  sentiment,  the  bald  idea  that  burst 
upon  my  whirling  brain  was  simply  this, 
that  I  was  running  away  with  the  wife  of 
another  man,  and  that  man  the  very  one 
who  had  lately  given  me  his  hospitality, 
and  called  me  his  friend.  And  even  so 
whirling  a  brain  as  mine  then  was,  could 
not  avoid  being  penetrated  by  an  idea  that 
was  so  shocking  to  every  sentiment  of  hon- 
or, and  loyalty,  and  chivalry,  and  duty. 

But  as  I  paused,  my  companion  forced 
me  on.  She  had  not  said  a  single  word. 
Iler  head  was  bent  down  to  meet  the 
storm.  She  walked  like  one  bent  on  some 
desperate  purpose,  and  that  purpose  was 
manifestly  too  strong  and  too  absorbing 
to  be  checked  by  any  thing  so  feeble  as 
my  fitful  and  uncertain  irresolution.     She 


3  thus  como 
ue  when  the 

I  bi^'ng? 
i  she  taking 
om  which  I 

le  supersti- 
ad  to  thiuli 

;  "it'shor- 
le  cause  of 
has  over- 
ible  to  en- 
been  con- 
has  waited 


a  !      But, 
m   (loinjr? 
She  be- 
nine   only 
she  hope 
be  hers  ? 
3  to  take 
rt  to  ? " 
iill  horror 
,  divested 
lat  burst 
ply  this, 
J  wife  of 
very  one 
spitality, 
even  so 
IS,  could 
dea  that 
tofhou- 
ity. 

1  forced 
le  word, 
jet  the 
in  some 
ise  was 
sorbing 
jble  as 
1.    She 


w, 


t    I 


|M 


'  I  took  the  cloud  which  was  wrapped  around  her  head,  and  tenderly  and  delicately  drew  it  down 
from  her  face.     Oh,   Heavens  I    what  was  this  that  I  saw?  "—pn ire  03 


SENSATIONAL  l-TEREIFIC  !-TEE^[£NDOUS  ! 


93 


walked  on  like  sonic  fate  tliiit  hail  giiincd 
possussiou  of  luo.  I  surrciulcred  to  the 
power  tbat  thua  held  me.  I  ceased  even  to 
think  of  pausing. 

At  length  we  came  to  where  there  was  a 
largo  Louse  with  lights  streaming  from  all 
the  windows.  It  was  Colonel  Berton'a — I 
knew  it  well.  A  ball  had  been  going  on,  and 
the  guests  were  departing.  Down  came  the 
sleighs  as  thej-  carried  olT  the  giiest.a,  the 
jangle  of  the  bells  sounding  shrilly  in  the 
stonny  night.  Thus  far  in  my  wanderings 
all  had  been  still,  and  this  sudden  noise 
produced  a  startling  effect. 

One  sleigh  was  still  at  the  door,  and  as 
we  approached  nearer  we  coidd  see  that 
none  others  were  there.  It  was  probably 
waiting  for  the  last  guest.  At  length  we 
reached  the  houso,  and  were  walking  imme- 
diately under  the  bright  light  of  the  draw- 
ing-room windows,  when  suddenly  the  door 
of  the  house  opened,  and  a  familiar  voice 
sounded,  speaking  in  loud,  eager,  hilarious 
tones. 

At  the  sound  of  that  voice  my  companion 
stopped,  and  staggered  back,  and  then  stood 
rigid  with  her  head  thrust  forward. 

It  was  Jack's  voice. 

"  Thank.s"  he  said.  "  Ila  !  ha  !  ha  ! 
You're  awfully  kind,  you  knov.-.  Oh,  yes. 
I'll  be  here  to-morrow  night.  Good-by. 
Good-hy." 

He  rushed  down  the  steps.  The  door 
closed.  lie  sprang  into  the  sleigh.  It 
started  ahead  in  an  opposite  direction,  and 
away  it  went,  till  the  jangle  of  the  bolls 
died  out  in  the  distance,  amid  the  stonn. 

All  was  still.  The  street  was  deserted. 
The  storm  had  full  possession.  The  lights 
of  the  house  flashed  out  upon  the  snow- 
drifts, and  upon  the  glittering,  frozen  sleet. 

For  a  moment  my  companion  stood  root- 
ed to  the  spot.  Then  snatching  her  arm 
from  mine,  she  flung  up  her  hand  with  a 


sudden  gesture,  and  tore  my  cloud  down 
from  olT  ray  face.  The  lights  from  the 
windows  shone  upon  me,  revealing  my  fea- 
tures to  her. 

The  next  instant  hor  arms  fell,  f^he 
staggered  back,  and  with  a  low  moan  of 
heart-broken  anguish,  she  Bank  down  pros- 
trate into  the  snow. 

Now  hitherto  there  had  been  on  my  mind 
a  current  of  superstitious  feeling  which  had 
animated  most  of  my  wild  fancies.  It  hal 
been  heightened  by  the  cveuts  of  my  wan- 
derings. The  howl  rf  the  storm,  the  voice 
of  the  dark  river,  the  clangor  of  the  mid- 
night bell,  the  shadowy  figure  at  the  door- 
way— all  these  circumstances  had  combined 
to  stimul.ite  my  imagination  and  disorder 
my  brain.  But  now,  on  my  arrival  at  this 
house,  these  feelings  had  passed  away. 
These  signs  of  commonplace  life — the  jang- 
ling sleigh-bells,  the  lighttd  windows,  the 
departing  compan}- — had  roused  me,  and 
brought  me  to  myself.  Finally,  there 
came  the  sound  of  Jack's  voice,  hearty, 
robust,  healthy,  strong — at  the  sound  of 
which  the  dark  shadows  of  my  mind  were 
dispelled.  And  it  was  at  this  moment, 
when  all  these  phantasms  had  vanished, 
that  my  companion  fell  senseless  in  the 
snow  at  my  feet. 

I  stooped  down  full  of  wonder,  and  full 
too  of  pity.  I  raised  her  in  my  arms.  I 
supported  hor  head  on  my  shoulder.  The 
storm  beat  pitilessly  ;  the  stinging  sleet 
pelted  my  now  uncovered  face ;  the  lights 
of  the  house  shone  out  upon  the  form  of 
my  companion.  All  the  street  was  de.-ert- 
cd.  No  one  in  the  house  saw  us.  I,  for 
my  part,  did  not  think  whether  I  was  seen 
or  not.  All  my  thoughts  were  turned  to  the 
one  whom  I  held  in  my  arms. 

I  took  the  cloud  which  was  wrapped 
around  her  head,  and  tenderly  and  deli- 
cately drew  it  down  from  her  face. 


w 


9-t 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


Ill    I     );, 


! 


i  V- 


Oh,  Heavens !  what  wa3  this  that  I  saw? 

The  lights  flashed  out,  and  revealed  it 
uninistukably.  There— then— rcstinj,'  on 
my  i-lioulJer — under  my  gaze — now  I'ully 
revealed — there  lay  the  face  that  had 
haunted  me — the  face  for  which  I  had 
longed,  ami  yearned,  and  craved!  There 
it  lay — that  never-to-be-forgotten  face — 
with  the  marble  features,  the  white  lips,  the 
cloHcd  eyes,  the  stony  calm — there  it  lay — 
the  face  of  her  whom  alone  I  loved — the 
Laily  of  the  Ice ! 

What  was  this  ?  I  felt  my  old  mood  re- 
turning. Was  this  real  ?  Was  it  not  a 
vision  ?  How  was  it  that  she  came  to  mc 
again  througli  the  storm,  again  to  sink 
down,  and  again  to  rest  her  senseless  form 
in  my  arms,  and  her  head  upon  my  breast  ? 

For  a  few  moments  I  looked  at  her  in 
utter  bewilderment.  All  the  wild  fancies 
wliich  I  had  just  been  having  now  came 
back.  I  had  wandered  through  the  storm 
in  search  of  her,  and  she  had  come.  Here 
she  was — here,  in  my  arms  ! 

Around  us  the  storm  raged  as  once  be- 
fore ;  and  again,  as  before,  the  fierce  sleet 
dashed  upon  that  white  face ;  and  again, 
as  before,  I  shielded  it  from  its  fury. 

As  I  looked  upon  her  I  could  now  recog- 
nize her  fully  and  plainly  ;  and  at  that  rec- 
ognition the  last  vestige  of  my  wild,  super- 
stitious feeling  died  out  utterly.  For  she 
whom  I  held  in  my  arms  was  no  phantom, 
nor  was  she  Xora,  I  had  been  in  some 
way  intentionally  deceived,  but  all  the  time 
my  own  instinct  had  been  true ;  for,  now, 
when  the  Lady  of  the  Ice  again  lay  in  my 
arras,  I  recognized  her,  and  I  saw  that  she 
was  no  other  than  3farion, 


CIIArTER  XXVIIL 

MV  LAnV  OF  THE  ICE. — SNOW  AND  SLEET. — 
REAWAKENING. — A  DESrEnATE  SITUATION. — 
SAVED  A  SECOND  TIME. — SNATCHED  mOM  A 
WOnSE  FATE. — nOUNE  IN  MY  AIMS  ONCE 
MORE. — TiiE   OPEN   DOOI;, 

• 

So  there  she  lay  before  mc — the  Lady 
of  the  Ice,  discovered  at  last,  and  idcnti- 
licd  with  Marion.  And  she  lay  there  re- 
clining on  my  arms  as  onco  before,  and  in 
the  snow,  with  the  pitiless  blast  boating 
upon  her.  And  the  first  question  tiiat 
arose  was,  "  What  can  I  do  ?  " 

Ay — that  was  the  question.  What  could 
I  do  ? 

I  leave  to  the  reader  to  try  and  imagine 
the  unparalleled  embarrassment  of  such  a 
situation.  For  there  was  I,  in  an  agony  of 
eagerness  to  save  her — to  do  something — 
and  yet  it  was  simply  impossible  to  think 
of  any  one  place  to  which  I  could  take  her. 

Could  I  take  her  into  Colonel  Berton's  ? 
That  was  my  first  impulse.  The  lights 
from  his  windows  were  flashing  brightly 
out  into  the  gloom  close  beside  us.  But 
how  could  I  take  her  there  ?  With  what 
story  ?  Or  if  I  trumped  up  some  story — 
which  I  easily  could  do — would  she  not  bo- 
tray  herself  by  her  own  incoherencies  as 
she  recovered  from  her  fivint?  No,  not 
Colonel  Berton's.  Where,  then?  Could 
I  take  her  anywhere  ?  To  an  hotel  ?  No. 
To  any  friends?  Certainly  not.  To  her 
O'vvn  home  ? — But  she  had  fled,  and  it  was 
locked  against  her.  Where — where  could 
I  take  her  ? 

For  I  had  to  do  something.  I  could  not 
let  her  lie  here — she  would  perish.  I  had 
to  take  her  somewhere,  and  yet  save  her 
from  that  ruin  and  shame  to  which  her 
rashness  and  Jack's  perfidy  had  exposed 


MY  LADY  OF  TUE  ICE. 


05 


hor.  Too  plain  it  all  ficomcd  now.  Jack 
had  urged  Ikt  to  fly — bejond  a  doubt — 
sbo  had  coiiBcntcd,  aud  bo  Lad  not  come 
for  her. 

I  rnised  lu  r  up  in  my  arms,  and  carried 
licr  on.  Once  tiofore  I  had  thus  carried  hur 
in  my  arms — tlum,  as  I  saved  her  from 
death ;  and  now,  as  I  thus  bore  her,  I  felt 
that  I  was  trying  to  save  her  from  a  fate 
far  worse — from  scaudal,  from  evil  Fiioak- 
ing — from  a  dishonored  name — from  a 
father's  curse.  And  could  I  but  save  her 
from  this — could  I  but  bear  her  a  second 
time  from  this  darker  fate  back  to  light, 
and  life,  and  safety ;  then  I  felt  assured 
that  my  Lady  of  the  Ice  could  not  so  soon 
forget  this  second  service. 

I  raised  her  up  and  carried  her  thus  I 
knew  not  where.  There  was  not  a  soul  in 
the  streets.  The  lamps  gave  but  a  feeble 
light  in  the  wild  storm.  The  beating  of 
the  sleet  and  the  howling  of  the  tempest 
increased  at  every  step.  My  lady  was 
senseless  in  my  arms.  I  did  not  know 
where  I  was  going,  nor  where  I  could  go  ; 
but  breasted  the  storm,  and  shielded  my 
burden  from  it  as  well  as  I  could;  and 
so  toiled  on,  in  utter  bewilderment  aud 
desperation. 

Now  I  beg  leave  to  ask  the  reader  if  this 
situation  of  mine  was  not  as  embarrassing  a 
one  as  any  that  he  ever  heard  of.  For  I 
thus  found  forced  upon  me  the  safety,  the 
honor,  and  the  life  of  the  very  Lady  of  the 
lee  for  whom  I  had  already  risked  my  life 
— whose  life  I  had  already  saved ;  and  about 
whom  I  had  been  raving  ever  since.  But 
now  that  she  had  thus  been  thrown  upon 
me,  with  her  life,  and  her  honor,  it  was  an 
utterly  impossible  thing  to  sec  how  I  could 
extricate  her  from  this  frightful  difficulty ; 
though  so  fervent  was  my  longing  to  do 
this,  that,  if  my  life  could  have  done  it,  I 
would  have  laid  it  down  for  her  on  the  spot. 


At  last,  to  my  inexprcs.-ible  relief,  I 
heard  from  her  a  low  moan.  I  put  her 
down  on  the  door-step  of  a  house  closo 
by,  and  sat  by  her  side  supporting  her.  A 
lamp  was  burning  not  far  away. 

She  drew  a  long  breath,  and  then  raised 
herself  suddenly,  and  looked  all  around, 
firndually  the  truth  of  her  position  returned 
to  her.  She  drew  herself  away  from  nic, 
and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  sat 
in  silence  for  a  long  time.  I  waited  in 
patience  and  anxiety  for  her  to  Fpcak,  and 
feared  that  the  cxeitement  and  the  angui.<h 
which  she  had  undergone  might  have  afl'eet- 
cd  her  mind. 

Suddenly  she  started,  and  looked  at  me 
with  staring  eyes. 

"  Did  he  send  you  ?  "  she  gasped,  in  a 
strange,  hoarse,  choking  voice. 

Her  face,  her  tone,  and  the  emphasis  of 
her  words,  all  showed  the  full  nature  of  the 
dark  suspicion  that  had  flung  itself  over 
her  mind. 

"//e.'  Mc!"  I  cried,  indignantly. 
"  Never !  never !  Can  you  have  the  heart 
to  suspect  me  ?     Have  I  deserved  this '! " 

"  It  looks  like  it,"  said  she,  coldly. 

"Oh,  listen!"  I  cried;  "listen!  I  will 
explain  my  coming.  It  was  a  mistake,  an 
accident.  I  swear  to  you,  ever  since  that 
day  on  the  ice,  I've  been  haunted  by  your 
face—" 

She  made  an  impatient  gesture. 

"  Well,  not  your  face,  then.  I  did  net 
know  it  was  yours.  I  called  it  the  Lady  of 
the  Ice." 

"  I  do  not  care  to  hear,"  said  she,  coldly. 

"  Oh,  listen  !  "  I  said.  "  I  want  to  clear 
myself  from  your  horrid  suspicion.  I  was 
at  your  house  this  evening.  After  leaving, 
I  wandered  wildly  about.  I  couldn't  go 
home.  It  was  half  madness  and  supersti- 
tion. I  went  to  the  Esplanade,  and  there 
seemed  voices  in  the  storm.    I  wandered 


w 


06 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


J:    ''■ 


^       I    1 


back  ngnln  to  your  liouso,  with  a  vnguo  and 
half-crazy  idcii  that  the  Lmly  of  the  Ice  was 
calling  mi'.  Am  I  canio  up  to  the  house,  I 
Baw  a  hIktIowv  figure  on  tlio  other  ."iilo.  I 
tlioujiht  it  wa-i  llic  I.uily  of  tlio  Ice,  and 
crossed  over,  not  knowing  what.  I  was  do- 
ing. The  figure  came  and  took  my  arm.  I 
walked  on,  frozen  into  a  sort  of  pupersti- 
tiou.s  silence.  I  Hwcar  to  you,  it  happened 
exactly  in  this  way,  and  that  for  a  time  I 
really  thought  it  was  tho  Lady  of  the  Ice 
who  had  come  to  meet  nie  in  tlie  stnrm.  I 
held  bai'k  oneo  or  twice,  but  to  1:0  avail. 
I  swear  to  _oii  that  I  never  had  tho  ro- 
motcsl  idea  that  it  was  you,  till  the  mo- 
ment when  yo'i  ''ell,  and  I  saw  that  you 
yourself  were  the  Lady  of  the  Ice.  I  did 
not  recognize  you  before ;  but,  when  your 
fiico  was  pale,  with  suft'cring  and  fear  upon 
it,  then  you  became  the  same  one  whom  I 
have  never  forgotten." 

"  Jlc  did  not  send  yon,  then  ?  "  said  she 
again. 

"  He  ?  Xo.  I  Hwear  he  ilidn't ;  but  all  is 
just  as  I  have  said.  Uei^ides,  we  have  (piar- 
relled,  and  I  have  neither  seen  nor  heard  of 
him  for  two  days." 

Fho  said  nothing  in  reply,  but  again 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  sat 
crouching  on  the  door-step.  Tho  storm 
howled  about  ua  with  tremendous  fury. 
All  tlie  houses  in  the  street  were  dark, 
and  the  street  itself  showed  no  living  forma 
but  ours.  A  Hmp,  not  liir  off,  threw  a  fee- 
ble light  upon  us. 

"  Come,"  said  I  at  last ;  "  I  have  saved 
you  once  from  death,  and,  I  doubt  not,  I 
have  been  sent  by  Fate  to  save  you  once 
again.  If  you  stay  here  any  longer,  you 
must  perish.     You  must  rouse  yourself." 

I  spoke  vehemently  and  quickly,  and  in 
the  tone  of  one  wlio  would  listen  to  no  re- 
fusal. I  was  roused  now,  at  last,  from  all 
irresolution  by  the  very  sight  of  her  suffer- 


ing.   I  saw  that  to  remain  hero  much  lon- 
ger would  bo  little  else  than  death  lor  her. 

"  Oh,  what  shall  I  do?  "  she  moaned. 

"  Tell  me  of  some  place  where  I  can  take 
you." 

"  There  is  no  jdaco.  How  could  I  dare 
to  go  to  any  of  my  friends  ? " 

"  Why  should  you  not  ?  " 

"  I  cannot — I  cannot." 

"  You  can  easily  make  up  some  story  for 
the  occasion.  Tell  me  the  name  of  some 
one,  anil  I  will  take  you." 

"  Xo,"  said  she. 

"  Tiien,"  said  I,  "you  must  go  home." 

"  Home  !  home  !  "  she  gasped. 

"Yes,"  said  I,  firmly,  "home.  Homo 
you  must  go,  and  nowhere  else." 

"  I  cannot." 

"  You  must." 

"  I  will  not ;  I  will  die  first." 

"  You  shall  not  die  !  "  I  cried,  passion- 
ately. "  You  shall  not  die  while  I  am  near 
you.  I  have  saved  your  life  before,  and  I 
will  not  let  it  end  in  this.  Xo,  you  shall 
not  die — I  swear  by  all  that's  holy  !  I  my- 
self will  carry  you  home." 

"  I  cannot,"  she  murmured,  feebly. 

"  You  must,"  said  I.  "  This  is  not  a 
question  of  death — it's  a  question  of  dis- 
honor. Home  is  tho  only  haven  where 
you  can  find  escape  from  that,  and  to  that 
home  I  will  take  )-ou." 

"  Oh,  my  God  ! "  she  wailed  ;  "  how  can 
I  meet  my  father  ? " 

She  buried  her  fiiec  in  her  hands  ag.iin, 
and  sobbed  ccnvulsively. 

"Do  not  be  afraid,"  said  I.  "I  will 
meet  him,  and  explain  all.  Or  say — answer 
rac  this,"  I  added,  in  fervid,  vehement  tones 
— "  I  can  do  more  than  this.  I  will  tell  him 
it  was  all  my  doing.  I  will  accept  his  an- 
ger. I'll  tell  him  I  was  half  mad,  and  re- 
pented. I'll  tell  any  thing — any  thing  you 
like.     I'll  shield  you  so  that  all  his  fury 


ki<; 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


07 


fliftU  fall  on  HIP,  nnil  lie  will  li.ivo  nothing 
for  you  but  pity." 

"  Stop,"  said  she,  solemnly,  rising  to  hor 
feet,  and  looking  iit  mo  with  her  wliitc  face 
— "  stop  !  You  must  not  talk  f>o.  I  owe 
my  lifo  to  j-ou  aliriiily.  Do  not  overwhelm 
mo.  You  have  now  deliberately  offered  to 
(lecept  dishonor  for  my  sake.  It  is  too 
much.  If  my  gmtitmlc  Is  worth  having,  I 
assure  you  I  am  grateful  beyond  words. 
But  your  offer  is  impo.ssiblc.  Never  would 
I  p'Tmit  it." 

'   Will  you  go  home,  then?"  I  asked, 
as  she  paused. 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  slow  ly. 

I  offered  my  arm,  and  she  took  it,  leaning 
heavily  upon  mo.  Our  progress  was  slow, 
for  the  stonu  was  fierce,  and  she  was  very 
weak. 

"  I  think,"  said  she,  "  that  in  my  haste 
I  left  the  back  door  unlocked.  If  so,  I 
may  get  in  without  being  observed." 

"  I  pray  Heaven  it  may  be  so,"  said  I, 
"  for  in  that  case  all  trouble;  will  be  avoid- 
ed." 

We  walked  on  a  little  farther.  Hhe  leaned 
more  and  more  heavily  upon  me,  and  walked 
more  and  more  slowly.    At  last  she  stopped. 

I  knew  what  was  the  matter.  She  was 
utterly  exhausted,  and  to  go  farther  was 
impossible.  I  did  not  question  her  at  all. 
I  said  nothing.  I  stooped,  and  raised  her 
in  my  arms  without  a  word,  and  walked  vig- 
orously onward.  ?he  murmured  a  few 
words  of  complaint,  and  struggled  feebly ; 
but  I  took  no  notice  whatever  of  her  words 
or  her  struggles.  But  her  weakness  wa' 
too  great  even  for  words.  She  rested  on 
me  like  a  do;  d  weight,  anj  I  would  have 
been  sure  that  she  had  fiiintcd  again,  had 
I  not  felt  the  convulsive  .shudders  that  from 
time  to  time  passed  through  her  frame,  and 
heard  hor  frequent  heavy  sighs  and  sob- 
bings. 


So  I  walked  on  through  the  roaring 
storm,  beaten  by  the  furious  sleet,  bearing 
my  burden  in  my  arms,  as  I  had  done  once 
hefjrc.  And  it  was  the  same  burden,  under 
the  same  circunistanee.s — my  Lady  of  the 
lec,  whom  I  thus  again  uplifted  in  my  arms 
amid  the  storm,  and  snatched  from  a  cruel 
fate,  and  carried  back  to  life  and  safety 
and  home.  And  I  knew  that  this  salvation 
which  she  now  received  from  me  was  far 
more  precious  than  that  o'hcr  one ;  for  that 
was  a  rescue  from  death,  but  this  was  a 
rescue  from  dishonor. 

We  reached  the  house  at  last.  The  gate 
which  led  into  the  yard  was  not  fastened. 
I  carried  her  in,  and  put  her  down  by  the 
back  door.     I  tried  it.     il  opened. 

The  sight  of  that  open  door  gave  her 
fresh  life  and  strength.  She  put  one  foot 
on  the  threshold. 

Then  she  turned. 

"  Oh,  sir,"  said  t^he,  in  a  low,  thrilling 
voice,  "  I  pray  God  that  it  may  ever  bo  in 
my  power  to  do  something  for  you — somo 
day — in  return — for  all  this.  God  bless 
you  !  you  have  saved  me — " 

And  with  these  words  .she  entered  the 
house.  The  door  closed  between  us — she 
was  gone. 

I  stood  and  listened  for  a  long  time.  All 
was  still. 

"  Thank  Ileaven  ! "  I  murmured,  as  I 
turned  away.  "  The  family  have  not  been 
alarmed.     She  is  safe." 

I  went  home,  but  did  not  sleep  that  night. 
My  brain  was  in  a  whirl  from  the  excite- 
ment of  this  new  adventure.  In  that  ad- 
venture every  circumstance  was  one  of  the 
most  impressive  character ;  and  at  the  same 
time  every  thing  was  contradictory  and  be- 
wildering to  such  on  exte:'t  that  I  d»d  not 
know  whether  to  congratulate  mj-sclf  or 
not,  whether  to  rejoice  or  lament.  I  might 
rejoice  at  finding  the  Lady  of  the  Ice ;  but 


■ii 


98 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  TCE. 


% 


my  joy  was  modified  bj-  tlic  thought  that  I 
found  her  meditating  flight  with  another 
man.  I  had  saved  her;  but  then  I  was 
very  well  aware  that,  if  I  had  not  come, 
she  might  never  have  left  her  homo,  and 
might  never  have  been  in  a  position  to  need 
help.  Jack  had,  no  doubt,  neglected  to 
meet  her.  Over  some  things,  however,  I 
found  myself  exulting — first,  that,  after  all, 
I  had  saved  her,  and,  secondly,  that  she  had 
found  out  Jack. 

As  for  Jack,  my  feelings  to  him  under- 
went a  rapid  and  decisive  change.  My  ex- 
citement and  irritation  died  away.  I  saw 
that  we  had  both  been  under  a  mistake. 
I  might  perhaps  have  blamed  him  for  his 
treachery  toward  Marion  in  urging  her  to 
a  rash  and  ruinous  elopement;  but  any 
blame  which  I  threw  on  him  was  largely 
modified  by  a  certain  satisfaction  which  I 
felt  in  knowing  that  his  failure  to  meet 
her,  fortunate  as  it  was  for  her,  and  fortu- 
nate as  it  was  also  for  himself,  would  change 
her  former  love  for  him  into  scorn  and  con- 
tempt. Ills  influence  over  her  was  hence- 
forth at  au  end,  and  the  only  obstacle  that 
I  saw  in  the  way  of  my  love  was  suddenly 
and  effectually  removed, 

CIIArTER   XXIX. 

PUZZLING  (jrESTIOKS  'WniCn  CANNOT  DE  AS- 
SWERF.n  AS  TET. A  STEP  TOWARD  RECON- 
CILIATION.— REUNION  OF  A  BROKEN  FRIEND- 
SHIP.— PIF.CES  ALL  COLLECTED  AND  JOINED. 
— JOY    OF    JACK. — SOLEMN    DEBATES    OVER 

THE     GREAT     PUZZLE     OF     THE     PERIOD.  

FRIENDLY    CONFERENCES  AND    CONFIDENCES. 
— AN   IMPORTANT   COMMUNICATION. 

The  night  passed,  and  the  morning  came, 
and  the  impression  of  these  recent  events 
grew  more  and  more  vivid.  The  very  cir- 
cumstances under  which  I  found  my  Lady 


ol  tlic  Ice  were  not  such  as  arc  generally 
chosen  by  the  novelist  for  an  encounter 
between  the  hero  and  heroine  of  his  novel. 
Of  that  I  am  well  aware  ;  but  then  I'm  not 
a  novelist,  and  I'm  not  a  hero,  and  the  Lady 
of  the  Ice  isn't  a  heroine — so  what  have  you 
got  to  say  to  that  ?  The  fa^ t  is,  I'm  talking 
about  myself.  I  found  Marion  running 
away,  or  trying  to  run  away,  with  my  inti- 
mate friend.  The  elopement,  however,  did 
not  come  off.  She  was  thrown  into  my  way 
in  an  amazing  manner,  and  I  identified  her 
with  my  Lady,  after  whom  I  longed  and 
pined  with  a  consuming  passion.  Did  the 
discovery  of  the  Lady  of  the  Ice  under  such 
circumstances  change  my  affections  ?  Not 
at  all.  They  only  grew  all  the  stronger. 
The  Lady  was  the  same  as  ever.  I  had  not 
loved  Nora,  but  the  Lady  of  the  Ice  ;  and 
now  that  I  found  out  who  she  was,  I  loved 
Marion,  This  happens  to  be  the  actual 
state  of  the  case ;  and,  whether  it  is  artistic 
or  not,  does  not  enter  into  my  mind  for  a 
single  moment. 

Having  thus  explained  my  feelings  con- 
cerning Marion,  it  will  easily  be  seen  that 
any  resentment  which  I  might  have  felt 
against  Jack  for  causing  her  grief,  was 
more  than  counterbalanced  by  the  pros- 
pect I  now  had  that  she  would  give  him  up 
forever.  Besides,  our  quarrel  was  on  the 
subject  of  Xora,  and  this  had  to  be  ex- 
plained. Then,  again,  my  duel  was  on  the 
tiijiis,  and  I  wanted  Jack  for  a  second.  I 
therefore  determined  to  hunt  him  up  as 
soon  as  possible. 

But  in  the  course  of  the  various  medita- 
tions  which  had  filled  the  hours  of  the 
niglit,  one  thing  puzzled  mo  extremely,  and 
that  was  the  pretension  of  Xora  to  bo  my 
Lady  of  the  lee.  Why  had  she  done  so  ? 
Why  did  Marion  let  her  ?  Why  did  O'llal- 
loran  announce  his  own  wife  to  me  as  the 
ladv  whom  I  had  saved '!    No  doubt  Nora 


rUZZLING  QUESTIONS  WHICH   CANXOT  BE  ANSWERED  AS  YET.       99 


and  Marion  had  some  reason.  IJiit  what, 
and  why?  And  what  motive  had  O'llallo- 
ran  for  deceiving  me  ?  Clearly  none.  It 
was  evident  that  he  believed  Nora  to  be  the 
lady.  It  was  also  evident  that  on  the  first 
night  of  the  reading  of  the  advertisement, 
and  my  story,  he  did  not  know  that  the 
companion  of  that  adventure  of  mine  was  a 
member  of  bis  family.  The  ladies  knew 
it,  but  he  didn't.  It  was,  therefore,  a 
secret  of  theirs,  which  they  were  keeping 
from  him.  But  why  ?  And  what  possible 
reason  had  Marion  for  denying  it,  and  Nora 
for  coming  forward  and  o^vning  up  to  a  false 
character  to  O'llalloran  ? 

All  these  were  perplexing  and  utterly 
bewildering  mysteries,  of  which  I  could 
make  nothing. 

At  length  I  cut  short  the  whole  bother 
by  going  off  to  Jack's. 

He  was  just  finishing  his  breakfast. 

The  moment  he  saw  me  ho  started  to  his 
feet,  and  gave  a  spring  toward  me.  Then 
he  grasped  my  hand  in  both  of  his,  while 
his  face  grew  radiant  with  delight. 

"  Macrorie !  old  boy ! "  he  cried.  "  What 
a  perfect  trump !  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  wasn't 
going  straight  over  to  you  !  Couldn't  stand 
this  sort  of  thing  any  longer. — What's  the 
use  of  all  this  beastly  row  ?  I  haven't  had 
a  moment's  per.cc  since  it  begun.  Yes, 
Macrorie,"  he  continued,  wringing  my  hand 
hard,  "  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  wouldn't  give  up 
every  one  of  the  women — I  was  just  think- 
ing that  I'd  give  them  all  for  a  sight  of 
your  old  face  again — execnt,  perhaps,  poor 
little  Louie — "  he  added.  "  But,  come,  sit 
down,  load  up,  and  fumigate." 

And  he  brought  out  all  his  pipes,  and 
drew  up  all  his  chairs,  and  showed  such 
unfeigned  delight  at  seeing  mc,  that  all  my 
old  feelings  of  friendship  came  back,  and 
resumed  their  places. 

"  Well,  old  fellow,"    said    I,   "  do   you 


know   in  the   first    place — our    row — you 
know — " 

"Oh,  bother  the  row !  " 

"  Well,  it  was  all  a  mistake.'' 

"  A  mistake  ?  " 

"  Yes.    We  mistook  the  women." 

"  How's  that?     I'm  in  the  dark." 

"  Why,  there  arc  two  ladies  at  O'llallo- 
ran's." 

"Two?" 

"  Yes,  and  they  weren't  introduced,  and, 
as  they're  both  young,  I  thought  they  were 
both  his  daughters." 

"Two  women!  and  young?  By  Jove!'' 
cried  Jack — "and  who's  the  other?" 

"His  wife!" 

"  His  wife  ?  and  young  ?  "  The  ide.i 
seemed  to  overwhelm  Jack. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  his  wife,  and  young,  and 
beautiful  as  an  angel." 

"  Y'oung,  and  beautiful  as  an  angel !  "  re- 
peated Jack.  "Good  Lord,  Macrorie!" 

"  Well,  you  know,  I  thought  his  wife  was 
Miss  O'Halloran,  and  the  other  Miss  Marion.'' 

"  What's  that  ?  his  wife  ?  You  thought 
she  was  Miss  O'llalloran  ?  " 

"  Y'cs,  and  the  one  I  saved  on  the  ice,  you 
know — " 

"  Well,  all  I  can  say  is,  old  fellow,  I'm 
confoundedly  sorry  for  your  sake  that  she's 
a  married  woman.  That  rather  knocks 
your  little  game.  At  the  same  timu  it's 
a  very  queer  thing  that  I  didn't  know  any 
thing  about  it.  Still,  I  wasn't  at  the  house 
much,  and  Mrs.  O'llalloran  might  have 
been  out  of  town.  I  didn't  know  any  thing 
about  their  family  aifairs,  and  never  beard 
them  mentioned.  I  thought  there  was  only 
a  daughter  in  the  family.  Never  dreamed 
of  there  being  a  wife." 

"  Well,  there  is  a  wife— a  Mrs.  O'Hallo- 
ran— so  young  and  beautiful  that  I  took 
her  for  the  old  man's  daughter ;  and  Jack, 
ray  boy,  I'm  in  a  scrape." 


m 


m 


I! 


100 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


I*- 


if 


'!i 


"  A  scrape  ? " 

"Yes — a  duel.  Will  you  be  my  sec- 
ond ?  " 

"  A  duel ! "  cried  Jack,  and  gave  a  long 
whistle. 

"  Fact,"  said  I,  "  and  it  all  arose  out  of 
my  mistaking  a  man's  wife  for  his  daugh- 
ter." 

"  Mistaking  her  ?  "  cried  Jack,  with  a  roar 
of  laughter.  "So  you  did.  Oh,  Vacrorie ! 
how  awfully  spooney  you  were  about  her, 
you  know — ready  to  fight  with  your  best 
friend  about  her,  and  all  that,  you  know. 
And  how  did  it  go  on  ?  What  happened  ? 
Come,  now,  don't  do  the  reticent.  Out 
with  it,  man.  Every  bit  of  it.  A  duel! 
And  about  a  man's  wife !  Good  Lord ! 
Macrorie,  you'll  have  to  leave  the  regiment. 
An  affair  like  this  will  rouse  the  whole  town. 
These  infernal  newspapers  will  give  exag- 
gerated accounts  of  every  thing,  you  know. 
Ana  then  you'll  get  it.  By  Jove,  Macrorie, 
I  begin  to  think  your  scrape  is  worse  than 
mine." 

"  By-the-way,  Jack,  how  are  you  doing  ?  " 

"  Confound  it  man,  what  do  you  take  me 
for  ?  Do  you  think  I'm  a  stalk  or  a  stone. 
No,  by  Jove,  I'm  a  man,  and  I'm  crazy  to 
hear  about  your  affair.  What  happened  ? 
What  did  you  do  ?  What  did  you  say  ? 
Something  must  have  taken  place,  you 
know.  You  must  have  been  awfully  sweet 
on  her.  By  Jove!  And  did  the  old  fel- 
low see  you  at  it  ?  Did  ho  notice  any 
thing  ?  A  duel !  Something  must  have 
happened.  Oh,  by  Jove  !  don't  I  know  the 
old  rascal !  Not  boisterous,  not  noisy,  but 
keen,  sir,  as  a  razor,  and  every  word  a  dag- 
ger. The  most  savage,  cynical,  cutting,  in- 
sulting old  scoundrel  of  an  Irishman  that 
I  ever  met  with.  By  Heaven,  Macrorie,  I'd 
like  to  be  principal  in  the  duel  instead  of 
second.  By  Jove,  how  that  old  villain  did 
walk  into  me  that  last  time  I  called  there !  " 


"  Well,  you  see,"  I  began,  "  when  I  went 
to  his  house  he  introduced  mc,  and  didn't 
introduce  ho:" 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  I  talked  with  her  several  times, 
but  for  various  reasons,  unnecessary  to 
state,  I  never  mentioned  her  name.  I  just 
chatted  with  her,  you  know,  the  way  a  fel- 
low generally  does." 

"Was  the  old  fellow  by?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  but  you  know  yesterday  I  went 
there  and  found  her  alone." 

"  Well  ? " 

"  AVell — you  know — you  were  so  deter- 
mined at  the  time  of  our  row,  that  I  re- 
solved to  be  beforehand,  so  I  at  once  made 
a  rush  for  the  prize,  and — and — " 

"  And,  what  ? " 

"  Why — did  the  spooney — you  know — 
told  her  my  feelir  .  —and  all  that  sort  of 
thing,  you  know." 

I  then  went  on  and  gave  Jack  a  full 
account  of  that  memorable  scene,  the  em- 
barrassment of  Xora,  and  the  arrival  of 
O'llalloran,  together  with  our  evening  after- 
ward, and  the  challenge. 

To  all  this  Jack  listened  with  intense 
eagerness,  and  occasional  bursts  of  uncon- 
trollable laughter. 

I  concluded  my  narrative  with  my  depar- 
ture from  the  house.  Of  my  return,  my 
wanderings  with  Marion,  my  sight  of  him  at 
Berton's,  and  all  those  other  circumstances, 
I  did  not  say  a  word.  Those  things  were 
not  the  sort  that  I  chose  to  reveal  to  any- 
body, much  less  to  Jack. 

Suddenly,  and  in  the  midst  of  his  laugh- 
ter and  nonsense,  Jack's  face  changed. 
He  grew  serious.  He  thrust  his  hand  in 
his  pocket  with  something  like  consterna- 
tion, and  then  d:  ew  forth — 


A  LETTER! 


101 


CHAt'TER  SXX. 

A  LETTER  ! — STRANGE  HESITATIOX. — GLOOMY 
FOREDODIXGS. — JACK  DOWN  DEEP  IX  IIIE 
DCMPS.  —  FRESH  COXFESSIOXS.  —  WHY  HE 
MISSED  THE  TUYST. — REMORSE  AXD  REVEXOE. 
— jack's  VOWS  OF  TEXGEAXCE. — A  VERY 
SIXGCLAR  AND  TNACCOrNTABLE  CHARAC- 
TER.— jack's   GLOOMY   MEXACES. 

"  By  Jove !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  I'll  be 
hanged  if  I  haven't  forgot  all  about  it. 
It's  been  in  my  pocket  ever  since  yesterday 
morning." 

Saying  this,  he  held  up  the  letter,  and 
looked  at  it  for  some  time  without  opening 
it,  and  with  a  strange  mixture  of  embar- 
rassment ana  ruefulness  in  his  expression. 

"  What's  that?  "  said  I,  carelessly.  "  A 
letter  ?    Who's  it  from.  Jack  ?  " 

Jack  did  not  give  any  immediate  answer, 
lie  turned  the  letter  over  and  over,  looking 
at  it  on  the  front  and  on  the  back. 

"  You  seem  hit  hard,  old  man,"  said  I, 
"  about  something.     Is  it  a  secret  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Jack,  with  a  sigh. 

"  Well,  what's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Oh,  only  this,"  said  he,  with  another 
sigh. 

"  What,  that  letter  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  It  don't  look  like  a  dun,  old  chap — so, 
why  fret  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Jack,  with  a  groan. 

"  What's  the  reason  you  don't  open  it  ? " 

Jack  shook  his  head. 

"  I've  a  pretty  good  idea  of  what's  in 
it,"  said  he.  "  There  are  some  letters  you 
can  read  without  opening  them,  old  boy, 
and  this  is  one  of  them.  You  know  the 
general  nature  of  the  contents,  and  you 
don't  feel  altogetlier  inclined  to  go  over 
all  the  small  details." 


"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you're  not 
going  to  open  it  ? " 

"  Oh,  I'll  open  it,"  said  Jack,  more  dole- 
fully than  ever. 

"  Then,  why  don't  you  open  it  now  ?  " 

"  Oh,  there's  no  hurr}- — there's  plenty  of 
time." 

"  It  must  be  something  very  unimportant. 
You  say  you've  had  it  lying  in  your  pocket 
ever  since  the  day  before  yesterday.  i»o, 
what's  the  use  of  getting  so  tragic  all  of  a 
sudden?  " 

"  Maeroric,  old  chap,"  said  Jack,  in  a 
tone  of  hollow  despair. 

"Well?" 

"  Do  you  see  that  letter  ? "  and  he  held 
it  up  in  his  hand. 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  in  that  I  am  to  read  a  convincing 
proof  that  I  am  a  scoundrel !  " 

"  A  what  ?  Scoundrel  ?  Pooh,  non- 
sense !  What's  up  now  ?  Come,  now,  old 
bo}',  no  melodrama.  Out  with  it.  But, 
first  of  all,  read  the  letter." 

Jack  laid  the  unopened  letter  on  the 
table,  filled  his  pipe,  lighted  it,  and  then, 
throwing  himself  back  in  his  chair,  sat 
staring  at  the  ceiling,  and  sending  forth 
great  clouds  of  smoke  that  gathered  in 
dense  folds  and  soon  hung  overhead  in  a 
dark  canopy. 

I  watched  him  in  silence  for  some  time. 
I  suspected  what  that  letter  might  be,  but 
did  not  in  any  way  let  my  suspicion  ap- 
pear. 

"  Jack,"  said  I,  at  last,  "  I've  seen  you 
several  times  in  trouble  during  the  last 
few  days,  but  it  is  now  my  solemn  convic- 
tion, made  up  from  a  long  observation  of 
your  character,  your  manner,  your  general 
style,  and  your  facial  expression,  that  on 
this  present  occasion  j-ou  are  hit  harder 
than  ever  you've  been  since  I  had  the  pleas- 
ure of  your  acquaintance." 


w 


7^ 


10: 


THE  LADY   OF  THE  ICE. 


1^ 


; 


"  That's  a  fact,"  said  Jack,  earnestly  and 
Ko'cnmlj-. 

"  It  isn't  a  secret,  you  said  ? " 

"  No,  not  from  you.  I'll  tell  you  pres- 
ently. I  need  one  pipe,  at  least,  to  soothe 
my  nerves." 

He  relapsed  into  silence,  and,  as  I  saw 
that  he  intended  to  tell  me  of  his  own 
accord,  I  questioned  him  no  further,  but 
sat  waiting  patiently  till  he  found  strength 
to  begin  the  confession  of  his  woes. 

At  length  he  reached  forward,  and  once 
more  raised  the  letter  from  the  table. 

"  Macrorie,  my  boy." 

"  Well  ? " 

"  Do  you  see  this  letter  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Whom  do  you  think  it's  from? " 

"  How  do  I  know  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Jack,  "  this  letter  is  the 
sequel  to  that  conversation  you  and  I  had, 
which  ended  in  our  row." 

"  The  sequel  ? " 

"  Yes.  You  remember  that  I  left  threat- 
ening that  Xumber  Three  should  be  mine." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  but  don't  bother  about  that 
■•iow,"  said  I. 

'•  Bother  about  it  ?  Man  alive,  that's  the 
ver)  thing  that  I  have  to  do  !  The  bother, 
as  you  call  it,  has  just  begun.  This  letter 
is  from  Xumber  Three." 

"  Number  Three  ?     Marion  ! " 

"  Yes,  Marion,  Miss  O'llalloran,  the  one 
I  swore  should  be  mine.  Ila,  ha  !  "  laughed 
Jack,  wildly  ;  "  a  precious  mess  I've  made 
of  it !  Mine  ?  By  Jove !  What's  the  end 
of  it  ?  To  her  a  broken  heart — to  me  dis- 
honor and  infamy ! " 

"  My  dear  boy,"  said  I,  "  doesn't  it  strike 
you  that  your  language  partakes,  to  a  slight 
extent,  of  the  melodramatic  ?  Don't  get 
stagy,  dear  boy." 

"  Stagy  ?  Good  Lord,  Macrorie !  Wait 
till  vou  see  that  letter." 


"  That  letter !  Why,  confound  it,  you 
haven't  seen  it  yourself  yet." 

"  Oh,  I  know,  I  know.  No  need  for  me 
to  open  it.  Look  here,  Macrorie,  will  you 
I  omise  not  to  throw  me  over  after  I  tell 
\ou  about  this?" 

"  Throw  you  over  ?  " 

"  Yes.     You'll  stick  by  a  fellow  still—" 

"  Stick  by  you  ?  Of  course,  through 
thick  and  thin,  my  boy." 

Jack  gave  a  sigh  of  relief 

"  Well,  old  chap,"  said  he,  "  jou  see, 
after  I  left  you,  I  was  bent  on  nothing  but 
Marion.  The  idea  of  her  slipping  out  of 
my  hands  altogether  was  intolerable.  I 
was  as  jealous  of  you  as  fury,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing.  The  widow  and  Miss  Phil- 
lips were  forgotten.  Even  little  Louit  was 
given  up.  So  I  wrote  a  long  letter  to  Ma- 
rion.'' 

Jack  paused,  and  looked  hard  at  me. 

"  Well,"  said  I. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  you  know  her  last  let- 
ter to  me  was  full  of  reproaches  about  the 
widow  and  Miss  Phillips.  She  even  allud- 
ed to  Louie,  though  how  under  heaven  she 
had  heard  about  her  is  more  than  I  can  ima- 
gine. Well,  you  know,  I  dcteri  lined  to 
write  her  a  letter  that  would  settle  all  these 
difficulties,  and  at  the  same  time  gain  her 
for  myself,  for  good  and  all.  You  see  I  had 
sworn  to  get  her  from  you,  and  I  could 
think  of  nothing  but  that  oath.  So  I 
wrote — but,  oh,  Macrorie,  Macrorie,  why,  in 
Heaven's  name,  did  you  make  that  mistake 
about  Mrs.  O'llalloran,  and  force  that  infer- 
nal oath  out  of  me?  Why  did  that  con- 
founded old  blockhead  forget  to  introduce 
her  to  you?  That's  the  cause  of  all  my 
woes.  But  I  won't  bore  you,  old  fellow ; 
I'll  go  on.  So,  you  see,  in  my  determina- 
tion to  get  her,  I  stuck  at  nothing.  First 
of  all,  instead  of  attempting  to  explain 
away  her  reproaches,  I  turned  them  all 


A  LETTER ! 


103 


back  upon  her.  I  was  an  infutuatcd  fool, 
Macrorio,  when  I  wrote  that  letter,  but  I 
was  not  a  villain.  I  wrote  it  with  an  ear- 
nest desire  that  it  should  be  efTective. 
Well,  I  told  her  that  she  should  not  blame 
me  for  my  galhmtrics,  but  herself  for  forcing 
me  to  thcni.  I  reproached  her  for  refusing 
to  elope  with  me  when  I  ofleroil,  and  told 
her  she  cared  far  more  for  her  father's  ease 
and  comfort  than  she  did  for  mj-  happiness. 
I  swore  that  I  loved  her  better  than  any 
of  them,  or  all  of  them  put  together,  and 
I'll  be  hanged  if  I  didn't,  Macrorie,  when  I 
■wrote  it.  Finally,  I  told  her  there  was  yet 
time  to  save  me,  and,  if  she  had  a  particle 
of  that  love  which  she  professed,  I  implored 
her  now  to  fly  with  me.  I  besought  her  to 
name  some  time  convenient  to  her,  and 
suggested — oh,  Macrorie,  I  suggested — 
swear  at  me — curse  me — do  something  or 
other — Macrorie,  I  suggested  last  night — 
midnight — I  did,  by  Heaven  !  " 

And,  saying  this.  Jack  looked  at  mo  for 
some  minutes  in  silence,  with  a  wild  ex- 
pression that  I  had  never  before  seen  on 
his  face. 

"  Last  night,  JIacrorie  !  "  he  repeated 
— "  midnight !  Think  of  that.  Why  don't 
you  say  something  ?  " 

"Say?"  said  L  "  Why,  hang  it,  man, 
what  can  I  say  ?  It's  a  case  beyond  words. 
If  you've  made  such  an  appoiniucnt,  and 
broken  it,  you've — well,  there's  nothing  to 
say." 

"  That's  true,"  said  Jack,  in  a  sepulchral 
tone.  "  That's  true.  I  made  the  appoint- 
ment, and,  Macrorie — I  was  not  there." 

"  AVell,  of  course,  I  gathered  as  much 
from  the  way  you  go  or.  about  it — but 
that's  what  I  should  like  to  understand, 
if  it  isn't  a  secret." 

"  Oh,  no.  I'll  make  no  secret  about  any 
thing  connected  with  this  business.  Well, 
then,  I  put  the  letter  in  the  post-ofllce,  and 


strolled  oif  to  call  on  Miss  Phillips.  Will 
you  believe  it,  she  was  '  not  at  home  ? '  At 
that,  I  swear  I  felt  so  savage  that  I  forgot 
all  about  Marion  and  my  proposal.  It  was 
a  desperate  cut.  I  don't  know  any  thing 
that  has  ever  madcr.e  feci  so  savage.  And 
I  feel  savage  yet.  If  she  had  any  thing 
against  me,  wliy  couldn't  she  have  seen  me, 
and  had  it  out  with  me,  fair  and  square  ? 
It  cut  deep.  By  Jove !  Well,  then,  I  could 
think  of  nothing  else  but  paying  her  ofl". 
So  I  organizeil  a  sleighing-party,  and  took 
out  the  Bertons  and  some  other  girls.  I 
had  Louie,  you  know,  and  we  drove  to 
Montmorency.  Fun,  no  end.  Great  spir- 
its. Louie  teasing  all  the  way.  We  got 
back  so  lite  that  I  couldn't  call  on  the  wid- 
ow. Tliat  evening  I  was  at  Chelmsford's 
— a  ball,  you  know — I  was  tho  only  one 
of  ours  that  went.  Yesterday,  didn't  call 
on  Miss  Phillips,  but  took  out  Louie.  On 
my  way  I  got  this  letter  from  the  ofKce,  and 
carelessly  stuffed  it  into  my  pocket.  It's 
been  there  ever  since.  I  forgot  all  about 
it.  Last  evening  there  were  a  few  of  us  at 
Berton's,  and  the  time  passed  like  light- 
ning. My  head  was  whirling  with  a  cram 
of  all  sorts  of  things.  There  was  my  anger 
at  Miss  Phillips,  there  was  a  long  story 
Louie  had  to  tell  about  the  widow,  and 
then  there  was  Louie  herself,  who  drove 
every  other  thought  away.  And  so,  Macro- 
rie, Jlarion  and  my  letter  to  her,  and  the 
letter  in  my  pocket,  and  the  proposed  elope- 
ment, never  once  entered  into  my  head.  I 
swear  they  had  all  pa?  ed  out  of  my  mind 
as  completely  as  though  it  had  all  been 
some  confounded  dream." 

Jack  stopped,  and  again  relapsed  into 
moody  silence. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  old  fellow,"  said 
he,  after  a  pause.  "  It's  devilish  hard  to 
put  up  with." 

"What  is?"  I  asked. 


I 


104 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


n 


■\M 


"  This  '  not-at-homo '  style  of  thing.  But 
never  mind — I'll  pay  her  up ! " 

Now  here  was  a  specimen  of  rattlc-brain- 
ishncss — of  levity — ami  of  childishness ;  so 
desperate,  that  I  began  to  doubt  whether 
this  absurd  Jaek  ought  to  be  regarded  as  a 
responsible  being.  It  seemed  simply  im- 
possible for  him  to  concentrate  his  impul- 
sive mind  on  any  thing.  lie  flings  himself 
one  day  furiously  into  an  elopement  scheme 
— the  next  day,  at  a  slight,  he  forgets  all 
about  the  elopement,  and,  in  a  towering 
rage  against  Miss  Phillips,  devotes  himself 
desperately  to  Louie.  And  now  when  the 
elopement  scheme  has  been  brought  bo- 
fore  him,  even  in  the  mids^t  of  his  remorse 
— remorse,  too,  which  will  not  allow  him  to 
open  her  letter — the  thought  of  Miss  Phil- 
lips once  more  drives  away  all  recollection 
of  Marion,  even  while  he  has  before  him 
the  unopened  letter  of  that  wronged  and  in- 
jured girl.  Jack's  brain  was  certainly  of  a 
harum-scarum  order,  such  as  is  not  often 
found — he  was  a  creature  of  whim  and  im- 
pulse— he  was  a  rattle-brain,  a  seattcr-brain 
— formed  to  win  the  love  of  all — both  men 
and  women — formed,  too,  to  fall  into  end- 
less difficulties — formed  also  with  a  native 
buoyancy  of  spirit  which  enabled  him  to 
float  where  others  would  sink.  By  those 
who  knew  Lim,  he  would  always  be  judged 
lightly — by  those  who  knew  him  not,  he 
would  not  fail  to  be  judged  harshly.  Louie 
knew  him,  and  laughed  at  him — Marion 
knew  him  not,  and  so  she  had  received  a 
stroke  of  anguish.  Jaek  was  a  boy — no,  a 
child — or,  better  yet,  a  great  big  baby. 
What  in  the  world  could  I  say  to  him  or 
do  with  him  ?  I  alone  knew  the  fulness  of 
the  agony  which  he  had  inflicted,  and  yet 
I  could  not  judge  him  as  I  would  judge  an- 
other man. 

"  I'll  pay  her  up ! "  reiterated  Jack,  shak- 
ing his  head  fiercely. 


"  But  before  paying  her  up.  Jack,"  said 
I,  "  wouldn't  it  be  well  to  read  that  letter  ? " 

Jack  gave  a  sigh. 

"  Voii  read  it,  Macrorie,"  said  he ;  "I 
know  all  about  it." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  that  is  the  most  aston- 
ishing proposal  that  I  ever  heard  even  from 
you.  To  read  a  letter  like  that! — Why, 
such  a  letter  should  be  sacreU." 

Jack's  face  flushed.  He  seized  the  let- 
ter, tore  it  open,  and  read.  The  flush  on 
his  face  deepened.  As  he  finished,  he 
crushed  it  in  his  hand,  and  then  relapsed 
into  his  sombre  fit. 

"  It's  just  as  I  said,  Macrorie,"  said  he. 
"  She  promised  to  meet  me  at  the  time  I 
mentioned.  And  she  was  there.  And  I 
was  not.  And  now  she'll  consider  me  a 
scoundrel." 

In  a  few  moments  Jack  opened  out  the 
crushed  note,  and  read  it  again. 

"After  all,"  said  he,  "she  isn't  so  aw- 
fully affectionate." 

"  Affectionate ! " 

"No — she  seems  afraid,  and  talks  a 
great  deal  too  much  of  her  father,  and  of 
her  anguish  of  soul — yes,  that's  her  ex- 
pression— her  anguish  of  soul  in  sacrificing 
him  to  me.  By  Jove ! — sacrifice !  Think 
of  that !  And  she  says  she  only  comes  be- 
cause I  reproach  her  with  being  the  cause 
of  grief — heavens  and  earth  !  and  she  says 
that  she  doesn't  expect  any  happiness,  but 
only  remorse.  By  Jove !  See  here,  Macro- 
rie— did  you  ever  in  your  life  imagine  that 
a  woman,  who  loved  a  fellow  well  enough 
to  make  a  runaway  match  with  him,  could 
write  him  in  such  a  way  ?  Why,  hang  it ! 
she  might  have  known  that,  before  our 
honeymoon  was  over,  that  confounded  old 
Irish  scoundrel  of  a  father  of  hers  would 
have  been  after  us,  insisting  on  doing  the 
heavy  father  of  the  comedy,  and  giving  us 
his  blessing  in   the   strongest  of  brogues. 


1 


A  LETTER! 


lOi 


And,  what's  more,  lic'J  have  been  borrow- 
ing money  of  me,  the  beggar !  Borrowing 
money !  of  me — me — without  a  penny  my- 
self and  head  over  heels  in  debt.  Con- 
found his  Impudence ! " 

And  Jack,  who  had  begun  this  with  re- 
morse about  Marion,  ended  with  this  burst 
of  indignation  at  Marion's  father,  conse- 
quent upon  a  purely  imaginary  but  very 
vivid  scene,  in  which  the  latter  was  sup- 
posed to  be  extorting  money  from  him. 
And  he  looked  at  me  with  a  face  that  craved 
sympathy  for  such  unmerited  wrongs,  and 
showed  still  nmre  plainly  the  baby  that  was 
in  him. 

I  made  no  answer.  His  quotations  from 
Marion's  letter  showed  me  plainly  how  she 
had  been  moved,  and  what  a  struggle  of 
soul  this  resolve  had  cost  her.  Now  I  could 
understand  the  full  meaning  of  that  sombre 
face  which  I  had  seen  in  O'llalloran's  par- 
lor, and  also  could  see  why  it  was  that  she 
had  absented  herself  on  that  last  evening. 
Did  this  letter  change  my  sentiments  about 
her?  How  could  it,  after  what  I  already 
knew  ?  It  only  elevated  her,  for  it  showed 
that  at  such  a  time  her  soul  was  racked  and 
torn  by  the  claims  of  filial  duty.  Under  her 
hallucination,  and  under  the  glamour  which 
Jack  had  thrown  over  her,  she  had  done  a 
deep  wrong — but  I  alone  knew  how  fearful 
was  her  disenchantment,  and  how  keen  was 
the  mental  anguish  that  followed. 

"She'll  never  forgive  me,"  said  Jack, 
after  a  long  silence. 

"  Who  ? "  said  I,  with  some  bitterness, 
which  came  forth  in  spite  of  my  new-found 
conviction  of  Jack's  utter  babyhood. — 
"  Who,  Miss  Phillips  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Jack—"  Marion." 

"  Forgive  you  ! "  I  ejaculated. 

*'  Of  cotirse  not.  It's  bosh  to  use  the 
word  in  such  a  connection.  She'll  hate  and 
scorn  me  till  her  dying  day." 


"  So,  Jack,"  said  I,  somewhat  solemnly, 
"I  think  from  what  little  I  know  of  her, 
that  if  she  gets  over  this,  she'll  feel  neither 
hate  nor  scorn." 

"  Yes,  she  will,"  said  Jack,  pettishly. 

"  -Vo,"  said  I. 

"You  don't  know  her,  my  boy.  She's 
not  the  one  to  forget  this." 

"  N'o,  she'll  nuver  forget  it — but  her  feel- 
ings about  you  will  be  ditTereut  from  hate 
and  scorn.  She  will  simply  find  that  she 
has  been  under  a  glamour  about  you,  and 
will  think  of  you  with  nothing  but  perfect 
indincrenec — and  a  feeling  of  wonder  at  her 
own  infatuation." 

Jack  looked  vexed. 

"  To  a  woman  who  don't  know  you,  Jack, 
my  boy — you  become  idealized,  and  heroic ; 
but  to  one  who  does,  you  are  nothing  of 
the  kind.  So  very  impressible  a  fellow  as 
you  are,  cannot  inspire  a  very  deep  passion. 
When  a  woman  finds  the  fellow  she  admires 
falling  in  love  right  and  left,  she  soon  gets 
over  her  fancy.  If  it  were  some  one  other 
woman  that  had  robbed  her  of  your  affec- 
tion, she  would  be  jealous ;  but  when  she 
knows  that  all  others  are  equally  charming, 
she  will  become  utterly  indifferent." 

"  See  here,  old  boy,  don't  get  to  be  so 
infernally  oracular.  What  the  mischief 
does  a  fellow  like  j'ou  know  about  that 
sort  of  thing  ?  I  consider  your  remarks  as 
a  personal  insult,  and,  if  I  didn't  feel  so  con- 
foundedly cut  up,  I'd  resent  it.  But  as  it 
is,  I  only  feel  bored,  and,  on  the  whole,  I 
should  wish  it  to  be  with  Marion  as  j'OU  say 
it's  going  to  bo.  If  I  could  think  it  would 
be  so,  I'd  be  a  deuced  sight  easier  in  my 
mind  about  her.  If  it  weren't  for  my  own 
abominable  conduct,  I'd  feel  glad  that  this 
sort  of  thing  had  been  stopped — only  I 
don't  like  to  think  of  Marion  being  disap- 
pointed, you  know — or  hurt — and  that  sort 
of  thing,  you  know.    The  fact  is,  I  have  no 


'^1. 


;  f" 


106 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


I  l; 


business  to  get  married  just  now — no — not 
even  to  tlio  angel  Gabriel — and  this  would 
have  been  so  precious  liard  on  poor  little 
Louie." 

"  Louie — why,"  said  I,  "  you  speak  con- 
fidently about  her." 

"  Oh,  never  fear  about  her,"  said  Jack. 

"  She's  able  to  take  care  of  herself.  She 
docs  nothing  but  laugh  at  me — no  end." 

"Xothing  new,  then,  in  that  (luarter?  "  I 
asked,  feeling  desirous  now  of  turning  away 
from  the  subjert  of  Marion,  which  was  un- 
dergoing the  same  treatment  from  Jack 
which  a  fine  and  delicate  watch  would  re- 
ceive at  the  hands  of  a  big  baby.  "  No 
fresh  proposals  ?  " 

"Xo,"  salu  Jack,  dolefully,  "  nothing  but 
chaff." 

"And  Miss  rhillips?" 

"Afl'airs  in  that  quarter  are  in  sluiu 
quo,"  said  Jack.  "  She's  chosen  to  not-at- 
bome  mo,  and  how  it's  going  to  turn  out  is 
more  than  I  can  tell.  But  I'll  be  even  with 
her  yet.     I'll  pay  her  off!" 

"Perhaps  you  won't  find  it  so  easy  as 
you  imagine." 

"  Won't  I  ?  "  said  Jack,  mysteriously ; 
"j'ou'll  see.'' 

"  Perhaps  she's  organizing  a  plan  to  pay 
you  off." 

"  That's  more  than  she  can  do." 

"  By-the-way — what  about  the  widow  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Jack,  seriously,  "  whatever 
danger  is  impending  over  me,  may  be  looked 
for  chiefly  in  that  quarter." 

"  Have  you  seen  her  lately  ?  " 

"  Xo — not  since  the  evening  I  took  the 
chaplain  there." 

"  You  must  have  heard  something." 

"  Yes,"  said  Jack,  moodily. 

"  What  ? " 

"  Well,  I  heard  from  Louie,  who  keeps 
well  up  in  my  aflairs,  you  know.  She  had 
gathered  something  about  the  widow.'' 


"Such  as  what?" 

"  Well,  you  know — she  wouldn't  tell." 

"  Wouldn't  tell  ?  " 

"  Xo  —  wouldn't  tell  —  chaffed  me  —  no 
end,  but  wouldn't  go  into  particulars." 

"  But  could  you  find  out  whether  it  affect- 
ed you  or  not  ?  " 

"  Oh,  of  course,  I  took  that  for  granted. 
That  was  the  point  of  the  whole  joke,  you 
know.  Louie's  chaff  consisted  altogether 
of  allusions  to  some  mysterious  plan  of  the 
widow's,  by  which  she  would  have  full,  am- 
ple, perfect,  complete,  and  entire  vengeance 
on  me." 

"  That's  bad." 

"It  is." 

"  A  widow's  a  dangerous  thing." 

"  Too  true,  my  boy,"  said  Jack,  with  a 
sigh ;  "  nobody  knows  that  better  than  I 
do." 

"  I  wonder  you  don't  try  to  disarm  her." 

"Disarm  her?'' 

"  Yes — why  don't  you  call  on  her? " 

"Well,  confound  it,  I  did  call  only  a 
day  or  two  ago,  you  know.  The  last  two 
or  three  days  I've  been  engaged." 

"  Yes,  but  such  an  engagement  will  only 
make  the  widow  more  furious.'' 

"  But,  confound  it,  man,  it's  been  simply 
impossible  to  do  any  thing  else  than  what  I 
have  been  doing." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is.  Jack,"  said  I,  sol- 
emnly, "  the  widow's  your  chief  danger. 
She'll  ruin  you.  There's  only  one  thing  for 
you  to  do,  and  that  is  what  I've  already 
advised  you  to  do,  and  Louie,  too,  for  that 
matter.     You  must  fly." 

"  Oh,  bosh !— how  can  I  ?  " 

"Leave  of  absence  —  sell  out  —  any 
thing." 

Jack  shook  his  head,  and  gave  a  heavy 
sigh. 


,11.. 


i 


H 


A  FKIENDLY  C.VLL. 


lo; 


CUAPTER  XXXI. 

A  FniESDLT  CALL. — PREI.IMINARJE3  OP  THE 
DUEL  NEATLY  AURANOED. — A  DAMP  JOIR- 
NEY,  AND  DEPKES-SED  .SPIRITS. — A  SECLUDED 
SPOT. — DIFFICULTIES  WHICH  ATTEND  A  DUEL 
IN  A  CANADIAN  SPRING. — A  MASTERLY  DE- 
CISION.— DEDATE3  ADOUT  THE  NICETIES  OF 
THE  CODE  OF  HONOR. — WHO  SHALL  HAVE 
THE  FIRST  SHOT,  STRUGGLE  r'OR  PRECEDENCE. 
— A  VERY  SINGULAR  AND  VERY  OBSTINATE 
DISPUTE. — I  SAVE  O'UALLOUAN  FROM  DEATH 
BY   RHEUMATISM. 

Before  the  close  of  the  day  a  gentle- 
man called  on  me  from  O'Hallorau,  whom 
I  referred  to  Jack,  and  these  two  made 
arrangements  for  the  duel.  It  was  to  take 
place  in  a  certain  locality,  which  I  do  not 
intend  to  mention,  and  which  was  no  mat- 
ter how  many  miles  out  of  town, 

TVc  left  at  an  early  hour,  and  the  doctor 
accompanied  us.  Jack  had  suflBcient  fore- 
sight to  fill  the  sleigh  with  all  the  refresh- 
ments that  might  be  needed  on  such  an 
occasion.  We  drove  to  O'Halloran's  house, 
where  we  found  his  sleigh  waiting,  with 
himself  and  a  friend  all  ready  to  start. 
They  led  the  way,  and  we  followed. 

It  was  a  nasty  time,  the  roads  were  ter- 
rible. They  were  neither  one  thing  nor  the 
other.  There  was  nothing  but  a  general 
mixture  of  ice  heaps,  slush,  thawing  snow- 
drifts, bare  ground,  and  soft  mud.  Over 
this  our  progress  was  extremely  slow. 
Added  to  this,  the  weather  was  abomi- 
nable. It  was  warm,  soft,  slimy,  and  muggy. 
The  atmosphere  had  changed  into  a  univer- 
sal drizzle,  and  was  close  and  oppressive. 
At  first  O'llalloran's  face  was  often  turned 
back  to  hail  us  with  some  jovial  remark,  to 
which  we  responded  in  a  similar  manner  ; 
but  after  a  time  silence  settled  on  the  par- 


ty, and  the  closeness,  and  the  damp,  and 
the  slow  progress,  reduced  us  one  and  all  to 
a  general  state  of  sulkiness. 

At  length  wo  came  to  a  little  settlement 
consisting  of  a  hiilf-do/.en  houses,  one  of 
which  bore  a  sign  on  which  we  rend  the 
words  IL'Ael  de  France.  Wo  kept  on  with- 
out stopping,  and  O'llalloran  soon  turned 
to  the  right,  into  a  narrow  track  which 
went  into  the  woods.  In  about  half  an  hour 
we  reached  our  destination.  The  sleighs 
drew  up,  and  their  occupants  prepared  for 
business. 

It  was  a  small  cleared  space  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  woods.  The  forest-trees  arose 
all  around,  dim,  gloomy,  and  dripping.  The 
ground  was  dotted  with  di'cayed  stumps, 
and  covered  with  snow  in  a  state  of  semi- 
li(luefaction.  Beneath  all  was  wet ;  around 
all  was  wet ;  and  above  all  was  wet.  The 
place  with  its  surroundings  was  certainly 
the  most  dismal  that  I  had  ever  seen,  and 
the  dank,  dark,  and  dripping  trees  threw  an 
additional  gloom  about  it. 

We  had  left  Quebec  before  seven.  It 
was  after  twelve  when  we  reached  this  place. 

"  Well,  me  boy,"  said  O'llalloran  to  me, 
with  a  gentle  smile,  "  it's  an  onsaisonablc 
toime  of  year  for  a  jool,  but  it  can't  be 
helped — an'  it's  a  moiglity  uncomfortable 
pleecc,  so  it  is." 

"  We  might  have  had  it  out  in  the  road 
in  a  quiet  waj-,"  said  I,  "  without  the  trou- 
ble of  coming  here." 

"  The  road ! "  exclaimed  O'llalloran. 
"  Be  the  powers,  I'd  have  been  deloighted 
to  have  had  it  in  me  oun  parrulor.  But 
what  can  we  do  ?  Sure  it's  the  barbarous 
legisleetion  of  this  counthry,  that  throis  to 
stoifle  and  raypriss  the  sintimints  of  honor, 
and  the  code  of  chivalry.  Sure  it's  a  bad 
pleece  intoirely.  But  you  ought  to  see  it 
in  the  summer.  It's  the  most  sayquisthcred 
localeetoe  that  ve  could  wiih  to  see." 


.»! 


wl' 


108 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


■i 


i    ,11 


if 


:1      ■: 


)! 


f 


Saying  tliis,  O'llallorau  turned  to  liis 
friend  and  then  to  ua. 

"Gintlcniin,"  said  ho,  "  allow  nic  to  in- 
throjiiieo  to  ye  ii  e  vi'ry  paitioiilar  friend, 
Mr.  Murtagh  Mediuty." 

Mr.  Murtagh  McGinty  rose  and  bowed, 
while  wo  did  the  same,  and  disiclosed  the 
form  of  a  tall,  elderly,  and  rather  dilapi- 
dated Irishman. 

All  this  time  we  had  remained  in  our 
Bleighs.  The  surrounding  scene  had  im- 
pressed us  all  very  forcibly,  and  there  was 
a  general  disinclination  to  get  out.  The 
expanse  of  snow,  in  its  half-melted  condi- 
tion, was  enough  to  deter  any  reasonable 
being.  To  got  out  was  to  plunge  into  an 
abyss  of  freezing  slush. 

A  long  discussion  followed  as  to  what 
ought  to  be  done.  Jack  suggested  trying 
the  road;  McHinty  thought  we  might  drive 
on  farther.  The  doctor  did  not  say  any 
thing.  At  last  O'llalloran  solved  the  difH- 
cultj'. 

lie  proposed  that  wo  should  all  remain 
in  the  sleighs,  and  that  we  should  make  a 
circuit  so  as  to  bring  the  backs  of  the 
sleighs  at  the  requisite  distance  from  one 
another. 

It  was  a  brilliant  suggestion;  and  no 
sooner  was  it  made,  than  it  was  adopted 
by  all.  So  the  horses  were  started,  and  the 
sleighs  were  turned  in  the  deep  slush  until 
their  backs  were  presented  to  one  another. 
To  settle  the  exact  distance  was  a  matter 
of  some  difBeulty,  and  it  had  to  be  ("ecided 
by  the  seconds.  Jack  and  McGinty  soon 
got  into  an  altercation,  in  which  Jack  ap- 
pealed to  the  light  of  reason,  and  McGinty 
to  a  past  that  was  full  of  espcrience.  lie 
overwhelmed  Jack  with  so  many  precedents 
for  his  view  of  the  cuse,  that  at  last  the  lat- 
ter was  compelled  to  yield.  Then  we  drove 
forward,  and  then  backward  ;  now  we  were 
too  far  away,  again  we  were  too  near,  and 


there  didn't  appear  to  be  any  prospect  of  a 
settlement. 

At  last  O'llalloran  suggested  that  wo 
should  back  the  sleighs  toward  one  another 
till  tliey  touched,  and  then  his  sleigh  would 
move  forward  twelve  paces. 

"  But  who's  to  pace  them  ? "  asked  Jack. 

"  Why  the  horse,  of  course,"  said  O'llal- 
loran. "  Sure  it's  a  regular  pacer  he  is,  and 
bred  up  to  it,  so  he  is." 

To  this  Jack  had  nothing  to  say. 

So  the  horses  backed  u>  i  the  sleigha 
touched  one  another. 

"Wait  a  minute  McGinty,  mo  boy,"  said 
O'llalloran  —  putting  his  hand  on  his 
friend's  arm — "Kt's  all  take  soniethiu' 
warrum.  5Ie  system  is  slowly  eonjaylin, 
an'  sucli  a  steete  of  things  is  moighty  on- 
wholesome." 

This  proposition  was  received  with  the 
same  unanimity  which  had  greeted  O'llal- 
loran's  other  propositions.  Flasks  were 
brought  out ;  and  some  minutes  were 
passed  in  a  general,  a  convivial,  and  a 
very  affectionate  interchange  of  courtesies. 

"  Me  boy,"  said  O'llalloran  to  me,  affec- 
tionately, "  ye  haven't  had  so  much  ixpay- 
rieence  as  I  have,  so  I'll  teek  the  liberty  to 
give  ye  a  small  bit  of  iustherruction.  Whin 
ye  foire,  eem  low!  Moind  that,  now — ye'll 
be  sure  to  hit." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  I. 

He  wrung  my  hand  heartily ;  and  then 
motioning  to  McGinty,  his  sleigh  started 
off,  and  advanced  a  few  paces  from  ours,  a 
little  farther  than  the  usual  distance  on 
such  an  occasion.  With  this  he  seemed  to 
be  satisfied,  and,  as  nobody  made  any  objec- 
tion, we  prepared  for  the  business  of  the 
day. 

O'Halloran  and  I  stood  up  in  the  sleighs, 
while  the  seconds  kept  their  seats.  Jack 
and  the  doctor  sat  in  the  front  scat  of  our 
sleish.     SIcGintv  sat  beside  O'Halloran  as 


A  FRIENDLY  CALL. 

I  stood  in  the  aftor-seat  of 


109 


Lo  stood  up 
our  Blci^^li. 

"  Shall  I  give  the  word  ?  "  said  Jack. 

"  No,"  said  McGinty.  "  I've  had  more 
cxpai'ionoc.  I've  liecn  sicond  at  cliviu 
jools — an'  hope  to  nspist  at  as  iniimy 
moic." 

"Shure  we  won't  throublc  ayther  of  ye," 
said  O'llttllorau.  "  It's  lue  that's  fought 
more  jools  than  you've  been  sieoud  at.  Me 
friend  Macrorie  and  I'll  manage  it  to  shoot 
oursilves — so  we  will." 

"  Ye  can't  give  the  word  yersilvca,"  said 
McGinty. 

"An'  what  do  we  want  of  a  word, 
thin?"  said  O'llalloran. 

"  To  foire  by,"  said  McGinty. 

"  There's  a  pcculecareetee,"  said  O'llallo- 
ran, loftily, "  in  the  prisint  occecsion  that 
obveeates  the  nicissitee  of  sueb  prosayd- 
ing3,  and  inables  us  to  dispinse  with  any 
worrd  of  command.  Macrorie,  me  Ijoy — 
frind  of  me  sowl — I  addhriss  you  as  the 
Oirish  addhrissed  the  English  at  Fontcnoy  : 
'  Fire  first  !' ■" 

And  saying  this,  O'llalloran  bowed  and 
then  stood  erect,  facing  me  with  a  grave 
countenance. 

"Fire  first?"  said  I.  "Indeed,  Mr. 
O'llalloran,  I'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind." 

"  Indade  and  you  shall,"  said  he,  with 
a  laugh.     "  I  insist  upon  it ! " 

"Well,  if  it  comes  to  that,"  said  I, 
"  what's  to  prevent  me  from  insisting  th.it 
you  shall  fire  the  first  shot  ?  " 

"  Shure  and  ye  wouldn't  dayproivc  mc  of 
the  plisure  of  giving  you  the  prasaydiuce," 
said  he. 

"  Then,  really,"  said  I, "  you  will  force  me 
to  insist  upon  your  Laving  the  precedence. 
You're  an  older  man  thaji  I  am,  and  ought 
to  have  the  first  place.  So,  Mr.  O'llallo- 
ran— fire  first ! " 

"  Thank  you,"  said  he,  with  a  bow,  "  but 


really,  me  boy,  you  must  excuse  me  if  I  in- 
sist upon  it." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  I.  "  If  it  were  any  other 
occasion,  I  would  cheerfully  give  you  the 
precedence,  and  so  I  give  it  to  you  here." 

"  Hut,  you  see,"  said  O'llalloran,  "  you 
must  considher  me  in  the  loight  of  an  intcr- 
taiiicr.  Ye' re  my  guest  to  a  certain  ixtint. 
I  must  give  up  all  the  honors  to  you.  So 
foire  awce,  me  boy,  and  ccin  low." 

"  Xo,"  said  I,  "  I  really  couldn't  think 
of  it." 

This  friendly  altercation  went  on  for  some 
time,  while  the  others  sat  listening  in  amaze- 
ment. 

SIcGinty  was  the  first  to  interrupt. 

"It's  in  defoince  of  all  the  joolin'  code," 
said  he,  starting  up.  "  I  must  inter  my 
protest." 

"  So  say  I,"  cried  Jack.  "  I  say  let  tho 
usual  word  bo  given — or  else  if  one  must 
have  the  first  shot,  let  them  draw  for  it." 

O'llalloran  looked  upon  them  both  with 
a  smile  of  benevolent  pity. 

"  McGinty,"  said  he. 

"  Well." 

"  Ye  know  me  ?  " 

"  Sure  an'  I  do." 

"  And  how  many  jools  I've  fought  ?  " 

"  Meself  does." 

"  Am  I  a  choild  at  it  ?  Will  ye  be  koind 
enough  to  mintion  any  one  that  has  any 
cleem  to  considher  himself  the  shupayrior 
of  Phaylim  O'llalloran  in  the  noiceties  and 
the  dilicacies  of  the  jooling  code  ?  Will 
ye  be  so  good  as  to  infarnim  me  what 
there  is  lift  for  me  to  Icrrun  ?  " 

At  this  appeal  Mr.  Murtagh  McGinty  sub- 
sided into  silence,  and  sat  down  again,  shak- 
ing his  head. 

Jack  still  insisted  that  tho  word  of  com- 
mand should  be  given;  but  O'llalloran 
silenced  him  effectually  by  asking  him  if  he 
had  ever  fought  a  duel. 


r 


ili!  . 


■!■   h. 


1 

Ilk! 

110 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


"  No,"  said  Jack. 

"  IIuvo  )c  ivir  been  second  at  one  be- 
fore ? " 

"  Xo, '  said  Jack,  ngaiii. 

"  So  this  U  your  first  time  out  ?  " 

"Yi'fl,"  paid  Jack,  wlio  looked  deeply 
Lumilintcd. 

"Will,  thin,"  said  O'llalloran,  loftily, 
"allow  lue  to  infarruni  you,  sir,  that  this 
is  the  thirty-seventh  toime  that  I've  had 
the  plisuro  of  taking  part  in  a  jool,  aythcr 
aa  principal  or  sicond." 

Wheri'upon  Jack  was  suppressed. 

In  all  this  the  doctor  took  no  part.  lie 
looked  cold,  wet,  uncomfortable,  and  un- 
happy. 

Anil  now  O'llalloran  turned  to  me  of;ain. 

"  Me  boy,"  said  he,  "  if  ye'll  not  grant 
me  this  as  a  fccvor,  I'll  cleem  it  as  n 
roight." 

"  A  right  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Yis,"  said  O'llalloran,  solemnly,  "  a 
roight!" 

"  I  don't  know  what  j'ou  mean,"  I  said,  in 
some  perplexity. 

"  I'll  expleon.  I'm  uudlier  a  debt  of 
oblccgcetion  to  you  that  I  i:ivir  can  rcpee. 
Yc'vc  seevod  the  loife  of  me  daughter,  me 
choild,  me  Marion — that's  one  debt — then 
ye've  seeved  my  loife,  me  own.  But  for 
you,  I'd  have  ))eeu  tarrun  in  payees  by  a 
howling  mob,  so  I  would.  Me  oun  loife  is 
yours.  Jewty,  and  the  cleoms  of  grati- 
chood,  and  the  code  of  honor,  all  iuspoire 
me  with  a  desoire  to  meek  some  rayturrun 
for  what  ye've  done  for  me. 

"  On  the  other  hand,"  ho  continued, 
"ye've  made  a  misteek  of  au  onplisint 
nature  about  Mrs.  O'll.  Ye  didn't  main 
any  barruni ;  ))ut  the  dade's  done,  and 
there  it  is.  It  necissitates  a  jool.  We  must 
fceee  one  another  to  satisfy  ofHndid  honor. 
But  at  the  seem  toime,  while  this  jool  is 
thus  necissitceted  be  the  code  of  honor, 


jewty  ami  gratiehood  must  be  considlicrcd. 
It's  a  nioighty  noico  case,"  ho  continued, 
meditatively,  "and  I  don't  think  such  a 
case  ivir  came  within  my  ixpayrience;  but 
that  ixtinsive  ixpayricnce  which  I've  had 
rindcrs  mo  the  best  judge  of  what  may  be 
the  most  shootablo  course  on  the  prisint 
occasion.  But  the  ulteemeete  tindincy  of 
all  me  mideeteclions  on  the  sulijiet  is  this 
— that  I  must  allow  you  to  lire  the  first 
shot." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  if  you  insist  on  looking 
at  it  in  that  light,  and  if  you  persist  in 
feeling  obligation,  that  sense  of  obligation 
ought  to  make  you  yield  to  my  wishes, 
and,  if  I  don't  want  to  fire  first,  you  ought 
not  to  insist  upon  it." 

"  No,  me  boy,"  said  O'llalloran  ;  "  that's 
all  oldie  casuisthree  an'  Impty  mitaphysics. 
There's  no  process  of  ratiosheeneetion 
that'll  be  ivcr  eeble  to  overturrun  the  sin- 
timints  of  jewty  and  dilicacy  that  spring 
spontaneous  in  the  brist.    So  blaze  away." 

"  Excuse  me,  but  I  insist  on  your  firing 
first." 

"  Bo  the  powers,  thin  1  and  I  insist  on 
your  taking  the  lade." 

"Pardon  me,  but  you  must." 

"  I'm  inkecpcble  of  such  a  lack  of  com- 
mon cevileetec,"  said  he.  "I  must  still 
insist." 

"  And  so  must  I." 

This  singular  and  very  original  alterca- 
tion went  on  for  some  time.  At  last  O'llal- 
loran took  the  cushions  off  the  seat,  and 
deliberately  sat  down,  facing  me,  with  his 
legs  dangling  over  the  back  of  the  sleigh. 
Seeing  that  our  argument  was  to  be  con- 
tinued for  some  time,  and  that  he  was  thus 
making  himself  comfortable,  I  did  the 
same.    We  thus  sat  facing  one  another. 

The  seconds  here  again  interposed,  but 
were  again  baffled  by  O'Halloran,  who  e.^- 
plained  the  whole  situation  to  them  in  so 


A  FKIKNDLY  CALL. 


HI 


forcible  a  manner  that  thoy  did  iiDt  know 
how  to  answer  him.  For  my  part,  I  waa 
firm  in  my  rcsolvo,  and  was  not  going  to 
fire  unless  wo  both  fired  together.  True, 
I  might  have  firod  in  the  air;  but  I  knew 
O'llalloran  so  well  by  this  time  that  I  was 
convinced,  if  I  did  8\ich  a  thing,  ho  would 
reproach  mo  Cor  it,  and  insist  on  my  firing 
again.  And  in  that  ease  it  would  all  Lave 
to  be  commenced  afresh. 

So  there  we  sat,  with  our  legs  dangling 
over  tho  backs  of  our  respective  sleighs, 
facing  one  another,  pistol  in  hand,  and  occa- 
sionally renewing  the  discussion.  lie  was 
obstinate,  I  was  equally  so,  and  the  time 
began  to  pass  away,  and  tho  situation 
gradually  grew  more  and  more  tedious  to 
our  companions.  Still  they  could  not  say 
any  thing.  It  was  a  punctilio  of  honor 
which  they  could  not  argue  down,  and  be- 
hinil  all  the  argument  which  might  be  used 
there  arose  tho  very  impressive  accumula- 
tion of  O'llalloran's  past  experience  in  the 
field  of  honor.  So  all  that  they  could  do 
was  to  make  the  best  of  the  situation. 

Tho  situation  !  It  was,  at  best,  a  dismal 
one.  Overhead  was  a  leaden  sky;  under- 
neath, the  thawing  snow,  which  every  hour 
assumed  a  more  watery  appearance;  in  the 
distance  arose  tho  dreary,  gloomy,  melan- 
choly forest-trees ;  while  all  around  was  a 
thin,  fine  drizzle,  which  enveloped  us,  satu- 
rating and  soaking  us  with  watery  vapor. 
We  .ill  became  limp  and  ))edragglcd,  in  soul 
as  well  as  body.  The  most  determined  buoy- 
ancy of  spirit  could  not  withstand  the  influ- 
ence of  that  drizzle,  and,  ono  by  one,  we  all 
sank  beneath  it. 

But  not  without  a  struggle.  For,  at  first, 
as  O'llalloran  and  I  thus  sat  facing  one  an- 
other, we  did  not  forget  the  ordinary  civili- 
ties of  life,  nor  were  wo  sati^licd  with  sitting 
and  staring  at  one  another.  On  the  contra- 
ry, we  sought  to  beguile  the  time  with  an 


interchange  of  courtesy  on  both  sides.  I 
took  my  fla-sk  and  drank  to  the  health  of 
O'llalloran.  O'llalloran  responded.  Then 
the  seconds  followed.  Then  O'llalloran 
drank  to  the  heallli  of  Jack  and  tho  doctor. 
Then  I  drank  to  the  health  of  McGinty. 
Then  Jacii  and  tho  doctor  drank  to  tho 
health  of  O'llalloran,  and  McGinty  pledged 
me. 

Two  hours  passed,  and  found  each  of  us 
hitting  there  in  the  same  position.  Jack 
and  tho  doctor  made  a  doleful  attempt  at  a 
game  of  euchre,  but  soon  gave  it  up. 
JlcGinty  sat  refreshing  himself  with  his 
flask,  defying  tho  weather,  laughing,  jok- 
ing, and  singing.  Then  wo  all  smoked. 
From  time  to  time  the  seconds  would  mako 
fresh  elforts  to  shako  our  resolve.  They 
[iroposed  once  more  that  wo  should  toss  up 
for  it,  or  drive  home  now,  and  come  out 
again — in  fact,  any  thing  rather  than  sit 
hero  amid  this  cold,  and  drizzle,  and  wet, 
and  dismal  gloom,  and  miserable,  rheumatic 
atmosphere.  But  all  these  proposals  were 
declined,  and  O'llalloran  was  immovable 
in  his  purpose;  while  I,  on  tlu  other  hand, 
was  equally  resolved  that  I  would  not  fire 
first. 

Thus  time  passed,  and  neither  of  us 
would  yield.  At  length,  tho  doctor  settled 
himself  down  into  the  bottom  of  the  sleigh, 
and  drew  the  bulfalo-robes  over  him.  After 
a  final  expostulation,  accompanied  with  a 
threat  to  drive  off,  Jack  imitated  his  exam- 
ple. McGinty,  seeing  this,  proceeded  to 
make  himself  comfortable  in  tho  same 
way. 

The  poor  horses  had  the  worst  time  of 
it.  The  cold  snow  was  up  to  their  knees ; 
and,  as  they  stood  there,  they  moved  uneas- 
ily, tramping  it  down,  till  a  pool  of  icy  water 
lay  beneath,  in  which  they  had  tc  stand. 
I  mentioned  this  to  O'llalloran;  but  he 
only  turned  it  against  me,  and  made  use 


n.r ' 


iW 


•I  !l 


Hi 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


^j^ 


pm 


N 


!  :  1 


;!i 


I 


of  it  as  a  fresh  argument  to  shake  my 
decision. 

At  last  I  saw  that  O'llalloran's  face  and 
attitude  had  undergone  a  change.  For  my 
-art,  I  was  wet  to  the  sliin,  and  chilled  to 
my  very  bones  ;  but  I  Avas  young  and 
strong,  and  could  stand  even  that.  AVith 
O'llalloran,  however,  it  was  dilTerent.  A 
man  of  sixty  cannot  sit  with  impunity,  in- 
active, and  exposed  to  a  cold,  slimy  driz- 
zle, such  as  this  was,  without  feeling  very 
serious  effects",  and  anticipating  worse. 
This  he  soon  experienced.  I  saw  his 
figure  crouching  down,  and  an  expression 
of  pain  coming  over  his  face.  In  the  midst 
of  his  pain  he  still  maintained  his  punctil- 
ious resolution  ;  but  how  much  did  that  cost 
him !  It  was  his  own  fault,  of  course.  It 
was  all  brought  on  by  his  impracticability, 
his  whimsicality,  his  eccentricity,  and  his 
punctiliousness.  Xeverthcless,  there  was 
in  liim  that  which  excited  my  deepest  com- 
miseration. The  wretchedness  and  the  pain 
of  his  face,  and  the  suffering  which  was  vis- 
ible in  his  attitude,  all  to\ichcd  me.  lie  sat 
crouched  down,  shivering,  shuddering,  his 
teeth  chattering,  and  presented  a  deplorable 
picture  of  one  who  struggled  vainly  against 
an  overmastering  pain. 

My  resolution  was  shaken  by  this.  I  rose 
to  my  feet. 

"  Mr.  O'llalloran,''  said  I,  "  i)ardon  me. 
I  sec  that  I  am  subjecting  you  to  very 
great  suffering.  If  you  sit  there  any  lon- 
ger, exposed  to  this  damp,  you'll  never  get 
over  it.  It  would  be  but  poor  courtesy  to 
subject  you  to  that  any  longer.  And  so  I 
don't  see  what  better  I  can  do  than  allow 
you  to  have  your  own  way.  I'll  have  to  give 
lip  my  scruples,  I  suppose.  I  can't  sit  here 
any  longer,  and  see  you  sufTer.  And  so — 
here  goes ! — I'm  willing  to  fire  as  you  wish." 

At  this  O'llalloran  rose  to  his  feet  with  a 
cry  of  joy. 


"  The  first  shot !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  ihe  first.  I'll  fire,  if  you 
insist  on  it." 

"  And  that's  just  what  I  do,"  said  he, 
shivering. 

At  this  I  took  aim. 

Bang !  went  the  shot.  I  afterward  found 
that  it  passed  through  his  hat. 

O'llalloran  now  raised  his  pistol,  and  lev- 
elled it  at  me.  But  the  pleasure  of  his 
triuTipIi  li'id  excited  him ;  and,  besides,  ho 
was  shivering  from  head  to  foot,  and  Lis 
teeth  were  chattering.  An  accurate  aim 
was  impossible.  His  hand  could  scarcely 
hold  the  pistol,  and  his  benumbed  finger 
could  scarcely  pull  the  trigger.  Ue  fired, 
and  the  bullet  passed  through  the  sleeve 
of  my  coat,  and  close  to  the  doctor's  head. 

"  Me  boy,"  he  cried,  flinging  down  the 
pistol,  "  there's  no  ind  to  the  oblccgeetions 
you  put  me  under !  I  owe  ye  mc  loifo  a 
second  toime.  Ye've  secved  me  from  death 
by  fraizing." 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

HOME  AGAIN. — THE  GROWLS  OF  A  COXFIUMED 
GKOWLER.  —  HOSPITALITY.  —  THE  WELL- 
KNOWN  ROOM. — VISION  OF  A  LADY. — ALONE 
■WITH  MARION. — INTERCHANGE  OF  THOUGirT 
AND  SENTIMENT. — TWO  nEAUTIFUL  WOMEN. 
— AN  EVENING  TO  HE  REMEMBERED.  —  THE 
CONVIVIALITY  OF  O'hALLORAN. — THE  HU- 
MORS OF  O'HALLORAN,  AND  HIS  DACCHIC 
JOY. 

We  all  hurried  away  from  the  ground  as 
rapidly  as  possible,  and  soon  reached  the 
Jlotcl  de  France.  It  was  small,  stuffy,  and 
rather  close,  but,  to  people  in  our  half- 
frozen  condition,  the  big  Canadian  stove 
was  a  blessing  beyond  words.  O'llalloran 
seemed  like  an  habihic  of  the  place,  judging 
by  the  way  he  button-holed  the  landlord, 


1    ii' 


^ 


\ 


w 


m 


^f 


ill 


( 
f 

1 

a 

T 

c 

V 

ii 
■i\ 
n 
ic 

P 

h 
bi 
ra 
hi 
0 

St 

fo 

sii 
fe 
ho 
m 
sli 


UOME  AGAIN. 


113 


and  by  the  success  with  which  he  obtained 
"  soraethin'  waiTiim "  for  the  company. 
But  tlio  IL'itel  <k  France  was  not  a  place 
where  one  miglit  linger ;  and  so,  after  wait- 
ing Ions  enough  to  allow  the  heat  of  the 
Canadian  stove  to  penetrate  us,  aided  by 
the  blended  power  of  "  sonicthin'  warrum  " 
— and  long  enough  also  to  give  oats  to  the 
horses,  which,  after  all,  must  have  had  the 
worst  of  it — poor  devils  ! — we  started  and 
dragged  on  to  the  town. 

All  this  time  O'llalloran  did  not  appear 
to  have  recognized  Jack  at  all.  On  the 
drive  out  this  might  have  been  accounted 
for,  but,  in  the  IfoliI  de  Francr,  U'llalloran 
had  a  full  and  perfect  inspection  of  him. 
If  he  did  recognize  him,  it  certainly  did  not 
appear  iu  his  manner.  He  exchanged 
words  with  Jack  in  a  tone  of  hilarious 
cordiality,  which  did  not  seem  as  though 
he  considered  Jack  an  enemy ;  and  Jack, 
who  never  failed  to  respond  when  greeted 
in  such  a  way,  met  him  more  than  half- 
way. It  was  evident  that  O'lTalloran  had 
not  the  smallest  idea  that  Jack  was  that 
identical  British  officer  whom  he  had  ex- 
pelled from  his  house. 

Of  all  the  party  the  doctor  seemed  to 
have  sufTored  most ;  and,  on  the  journey 
back,  he  kept  up  one  prolonged  growl  at 
me.  I  was  fated,  he  said,  to  bring  him  bad 
luck,  and  I  would  be  the  death  of  him. 
Once  before  he  had  ridden  all  night  in  the 
storm  for  me ;  and  now  here  was  another 
fool's  errand.  lie  seemed  inclined  to  con- 
sider it  as  a  personal  insult,  and  actually 
felt  aggrieved  because  O'llalloran's  bullet 
had  not  shattered  my  arm,  or  penetrated 
my  brain.  Thus  he  alternated  between 
shivering  and  swearing  all  the  way  back. 

"  I   tell   you  what  it  is,  Macrorie,"   he 

growled,  "  if  you  ever  come  to  ask  ray  help 

again  on  any  occasion  whatever,  I'll   take 

it  aa  a  personal  insult.    I  wouldn't  have 

8 


come  this  time,  but  I  thought  it  was  to  bo 
an  affair  of  honor.  An  affair  of  honor! 
Rot  and  nonsense !  Dragging  a  fellow  over 
the  country  all  day  to  sec  a  couple  of  pis- 
tols fired  in  the  air !  What  sort  of  a  thing 
do  you  call  that  ?  And  here  am  I — in  for 
it — yes — d.-'um  it,  man! — I  say  again — in 
for  it — to  any  extent — rheumatism,  neural- 
gia, gout,  inflammation,  and  fifty  other 
things!  If  I  thought  you'd  have  any  of 
them,  I'd  feel  satisfied.  But  no — you're  all 
right,  and  can  aft'ord  to  sit  there  grinning 
at  the  suflferings  of  a  better  man  than  your- 
self." 

From  which  it  will  appear  that  the  doc- 
tor was  savage,  and  I  was  not. 

On  reaching  Quebec,  O'llalloran  gave 
us  all  a  comprehensive  invitation  to  din- 
ner. 

But  the  doctor  could  not  accept  it.  lie 
had  taken  cold,  and  would  have  to  go  home. 
Jack  could  not  accept  it.  He  had  a  very 
pressing  engagement.  Mr.  McGinty  could 
not  accept  it,  for  he  had  some  important 
business.  So  O'llalloran  pressed  me.  I 
alone  was  disengaged.  I  had  no  rheuma- 
tism, no  pressing  engagement,  no  important 
business.  O'llalloran  was  urgent  in  his  in- 
vitation. Our  duel  seemed  only  to  have 
heightened  and  broadened  his  cordiality. 
I  was  dying  to  see  Marion — or  to  find  out 
how  she  was — so  what  did  I  do?  Why, 
I  leaped  at  the  invitation,  as  a  matter  of 
course. 

So  once  more  I  was  ushered  into  that 
comfortable  and  hospitable  back-parlor. 
Since  I  had  been  there  last,  what  events 
had  occurred!  O'llalloran  left  me  for  a 
time,  and  I  was  alone.  I  sat  down,  and 
thought  of  that  night  when  I  had  wan- 
dered forth.  I  thought  of  all  the  wild 
fancies  that  had  filled  my  brain,  as  I  wan- 
dered about  amid  the  storm,  listening  to  the 
howl  of  the  wind,  and  the  deep,  sullen  moan 


lU 


THE  LADY   OF  THE  ICE 


U. 


of  the  riviT.  I  recalled  that  sliangc,  neinl 
suiierstition,  wliicli  hail  drawn  luc  back 
once  more  to  the  house — and  tlie  deep 
louiring  and  craving  which  had  filled  my 
heart  for  one  glimpse,  however  faint,  of 
my  Lady  of  the  Ice.  I  thought  of  my 
return — of  my  earnest  gaze  around,  of  the 
deep  toll  of  the  midnight  bell,  and  of  the 
sudden  revelation  of  that  dim,  shadowy 
figure  of  a  veiled  lady,  that  stood  in  faint 
outline  by  the  house,  which  advanced  to 
meet  me  as  I  hurried  over  to  her. 

It  was  quite  dark.  There  were  no  lamps 
lighted,  but  the  coal-Cre  flickered  and  thr<.  w- 
a  ruddy  glow  about  the  apartment ;  at  times 
leaping  up  into  brightness,  and  again  dung 
down  into  dimness  and  obscurity.  (I'llal- 
loran  had  pone  tip-stairs,  leaving  me  thus 
alone,  and  I  sat  in  the  di'cp  arm-chair  with 
my  mind  full  of  these  all-absorbing  fancies  ; 
and,  in  the  midst  of  these  fancies,  even 
while  I  was  thinking  of  that  veiled  figure 
which  I  had  seen  nnder  the  shadow  of  the 
house — even  thus — I  became  aware  of  a 
light  footfall,  and  a  rustling  dress  beside 
me. 

I  turned  my  head  with  a  quick  move- 
ment of  surprise. 

There  was  the  figure  of  a  lady — grace- 
ful, slender,  formed  in  a  mould  of  perfect 
elegance  and  loveliness,  the  dark  drapery 
of  her  dress  descending  till  it  died  away 
among  the  shadows  on  the  floor.  I  stared 
for  a  moment  in  surprise.  Then  the  light 
of  the  fire,  which  had  subsided  for  a  mo- 
ment, leaped  up,  and  flashed  out  upon  the 
exquisite  features,  and  the  dark,  lustrous, 
solemn  eyes  of  Marion. 

I  sprang  to  my  feet,  with  my  heart  beat- 
ing so  fast  that  it  seemed  impossible  to 
breathe.  The  surprise  was  overwhelming. 
I  had  thought  of  her  as  raving  in  brain- 
fever,  descending  dccj)  down  into  the  abyss 
of  delirium,  and  now — here  she  was — here 


— by  my  side  I— my  Lady  of  the  Ice  I — 
Marion ! 

"  I  heard  that  you  were  here,"  she  said, 
in  a  low,  tremulous  voice,  "  and  I  could  not 
help  coming  down  to  tell  jou  how  I — how 
I  bless  you  for — for  that  night." 

She  stopped — and  held  out  her  band  in 
silence. 

I  seized  it  in  both  of  mine.  For  a  few 
moments  I  could  not  speak.  At  last  I 
Ijurst  forth : 

"  Uh,  my  God !  What  bliss  it  is  for  me 
to  see  you ! — I've  been  thinking  about  it 
ever  since — I've  been  afraid  that  you  were 
ill — that  you  would  never  get  over  it." 

And  still  holding  her  hand  in  mine,  I 
raised  it  with  tremulous  eagerness,  and 
pressed  it  to  my  lips. 

She  gently  withdrew  =*.  Vut  without  any 
appearance  of  anger. 

"  Xo,"  said  she,  "  I  was  not  ill.  A  wake- 
ful night,  a  very  feverish  excitement — that 
was  all." 

"  I  listened  long  after  you  left,"  said  I, 
in  a  low  voice ;  "  and  all  was  still." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  in  the  same  lov  voice. 
"  Xo  one  beard  mc.  I  reached  my  room 
without  any  one  knowing  it.  But  I  bad 
much  to  sustain  mc.  For  oh,  sir,  I  felt 
deeply,  deeply  grateful  to  find  myself  back 
again,  and  to  know  that  my  folly  had  ended 
so.  To  be  again  in  my  dear  home — with 
my  dear  papa — after  the  anguish  that  I 
had  known  1 " 

She  stopped. — It  was  a  subject  that  she 
could  not  speak  on  without  an  emotion 
that  was  visible  in  every  tone.  Iler  voice 
was  sad,  and  low,  and  solemn,  and  all  its 
intonations  thrilled  to  the  very  core  of  my 
being.  And  for  me — I  had  nothing  to  say 
— I  thrilled,  my  heart  bounded  at  the  sight 
of  her  Aice,  and  at  the  tones  of  her  voice; 
while  within  me  there  was  a  gri'at  and  un- 
i  spcakable  joy.    If  I  had  dared  to  say  to  her 


And  holding  her  hand  in  m  ne.  1  raissd  it  with    tremulous  eagetnass,   and    piessed  .t  to  my  lips. 

PilLTC    114. 


iii 


ilf'iii 


H 


1 
t 
t 

s 

a 
a 

SI 

m 
)j; 
ci 
til 
cv 
.Til 


■If  • 

I 

1 

ir 


i 


"I 
ii( 

wa 

is  ( 

] 

ing 

soi; 

a  ^ 

ligl 

spo 

terr 

plo, 

vfai 

she 

in  1 

self 

Xor 

who 

W.1S 

curii 


HOME  AGAIN. 


ii; 


all  that  I  felt  at  that  moment !  But  how 
dare  I  ?  She  had  come  In  the  fulness  of 
her  warm  gi'atitutle  to  thank  me  for  what 
I  hail  (lone.  ?he  did  not  seem  to  think 
that,  l)ut  for  me,  she  would  not  have  loft 
her  homo  at  all.  She  only  remembered 
that  I  had  brought  her  back.  It  was 
thus  that  her  generous  nature  revealed  it- 
self. 

Xow,  while  she  thus  expressed  such  deep 
and  fervent  gratitude,  and  evinced  such  joy 
at  being  again  in  her  home,  and  at  finding 
such  an  ending  to  her  folly,  there  came  to 
me  a  great  and  imequallcd  exultation.  For 
by  this  I  understood  that  her  folly  was 
cured — that  her  infatuation  was  over — that 
the  glamour  had  been  dis.^ipated — that  her 
eyes  had  been  opened — and  the  once-adored 
Jack  was  now  an  object  of  indifference. 

"  Have  you  told  any  one  about  it  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"  Xo,"  said  she,  "  not  a  soul." 

"//c  is  my  most  intimate  friend,"  said  I, 
"  but  I  have  kept  this  secret  from  him. 
lie  knows  nothing  about  it." 

"  Of  course  he  does  not,"  said  she,  "  how 
was  it  possible  for  you  to  tell  him?  This 
is  oil)-  secret." 

I  cannot  tell  the  soft,  sweet,  and  sooth- 
ing consolation  which  penetrated  my  inmost 
soul  at  these  words.  Though  few,  they  had 
a  world  of  meaning.  I  noticed  with  de- 
light the  cool  indifference  with  which  she 
spoke  of  him.  Had  she  expressed  eon- 
tempt,  I  should  not  have  been  so  well 
pleased.  Perfect  indifference  was  what  I 
wanted,  and  wliat  I  found.  Then,  again, 
she  acknowledged  me  as  the  only  partner 
in  her  secret,  thus  associating  me  with  her- 
self in  one  memorable  and  impressive  way. 
Xor  yet  did  she  ask  any  questions  as  to 
whom  I  meant.  Iler  indifference  to  him 
w,is  so  great  that  it  did  not  even  excite 
curiosity  as  to  how  I  had  found  out  who 


he  was.  She  was  content  to  take  my  own 
statement  without  any  questions  or  observa- 
tions. 

And  there,  as  the  Dickering  litrht  of  the 
coal-fire  sprang  up  and  died  out ;  as  it  threw 
from  time  to  time  the  ruddy  glow  of  its  up- 
rising flames  upon  her,  she  stood  before  mo 
—  a  vision  of  perfect  loveliness — like  a  god- 
dess to  tlie  devotee,  wliich  appears  for  an 
instant  amid  the  glow  of  some  mysterious 
light,  only  to  fade  out  of  sight  a  moment 
after.  The  rare  and  perfect  grace  of  her 
slender  figure,  with  its  dark  drapery,  fading 
into  the  gloom  below — the  fair  outline  of 
her  face — her  sad,  earnest,  and  melancholy 
expression  ;  the  intense  and  solemn  ear- 
nestness of  her  dark,  lustrous  eyes — ;ill 
these  conspired  to  form  a  vision  such  as 
impressed  itself  upon  my  memory  forever. 
This  was  the  full  realization  of  my  eager 
fancy — this  was  what  I  had  so  longed  to 
sec.  I  had  formed  my  own  ideal  of  niy 
Lady  of  the  Ice— in  private  life — in  the 
parlor — meeting  me  in  the  world  of  socie- 
ty.    And  here  before  me  that  ideal  stood. 

Xow,  it  gives  a  very  singular  sensation  to 
a  fellow  to  stand  Aicc  to  fiice  with  the  wom- 
an whom  he  worships  and  adores,  and  to 
whom  he  dares  not  make  known  the  feel- 
ings that  swell  within  him ;  and  still  more 
singular  is  this  sensation,  when  this  wom- 
an, whom  ho  adores,  happens  to  be  one 
whom  he  has  carried  in  his  arms  for  an  in- 
definite time;  and  more  singular  yet  is  it, 
when  she  happens  to  be  one  whom  he  has 
saved  once,  and  once  again,  from  the  mo.-t 
cruel  fate ;  by  whoso  side  he  has  stood  in 
what  may  have  seemed  the  supreme  mo- 
ment of  mortal  life ;  whom  he  has  sustained 
and  cheered  and  strengthened  in  a  dro.^il 
conflict  with  Death  himself;  singular  enough 
is  the  sensation  that  arises  under  such  cir- 
cumstances as  these,  my  boy — singular,  and 
overwhelming,  and  intolerable  ;  a  sensation 


116 


THE  LADY   OF  THE  ICK. 


n 


i^i 


•■< 


il-' 


whicli  paralyzes  the  tongue  and  iniikcs  one 
iimte,  yet  still  brings  on  a  resistless  and 
invincible  desire  to  speak  and  make  all 
known ;  and  >lioidd  such  a  seene  be  too 
long  continued,  the  probability  is  that  the 
desire  and  the  longing  thus  to  sjieak  will 
eventually  burst  through  all  re.itraint,  and 
pour  forth  in  a  vtdunie  of  fierce,  passionate 
clo(iucnee,  that  will  rush  onward,  careless 
of  consc(iuenecs.  Xow,  siieh  was  my  situ- 
ation, and  such  was  my  sensation,  and  such, 
no  doubt,  would  have  been  the  end  of  it  all, 
had  not  the  seeue  been  brought  to  an  end 
)jy  the  arrival  of  O'llalloran  and  his  wife, 
preceded  by  a  servant  with  lights,  who 
soon  put  the  room  in  a  state  of  illumina- 
tion. 

Xora,  as  I  must  still  call  her,  was  some- 
what embarrassed  at  first  meeting  me — for 
she  could  not  forget  our  last  interview ; 
bat  she  gradually  got  over  it,  and,  as  the 
evening  wore  on,  she  became  her  old,  lively, 
laughing,  original  self.  O'llalloran,  too, 
was  in  his  best  and  most  genial  mood, 
and,  as  I  caught  at  times  the  solemn  glance 
of  the  dark  eyes  of  Marion,  I  found  not  a 
cloud  upon  the  sky  that  overlnmg  om-  fes- 
tivities. -Maricui,  too,  had  more  to  say  than 
usual.  She  was  no  longer  so  self-absorbed, 
and  so  abstracted,  as  she  once  was.  She 
was  not  playful  and  lively  like  Xora ;  but 
she  was,  nt  least,  not  sad ;  she  showed  an 
interest  in  all  that  was  going  on,  and  no 
longer  dwelt  apart  like  a  star. 

It  was  evident  that  Xora  knew  nothing 
at  all  about  the  duel.  That  was  a  secret 
between  O'llalloran  and  me.  It  was  also 
evident  that  she  knew  nothing  about 
Marion's  adventure — that  was  a  secret  be- 
tween Marion  and  me.  There  was  another 
secret,  also,  which  puzzled  me,  and  of 
which  O'llalloran  must,  of  course,  have 
known  as  little  as  I  did,  and  this  was  that 
Strange  act  of  Xora's  in  pretending  to  be 


the  Lady  of  the  Ice.  Why  had  she  done 
it  ?  For  what  possible  reason?  Why  had 
JIarion  allowed  her  to  do  it?  All  this 
was  a  mystery.  I  also  wondered  much 
whether  she  thought  that  I  still  believed  in 
that  pretence  of  hers.  I  thought  she  did, 
and  attributed  to  this  that  embarrassment 
which  she  showed  when  she  first  greeted 
me.  On  this,  as  on  the  former  occasion, 
her  embarrassment  had,  no  doubt,  arisen 
fi'om  the  fact  that  she  was  playing  a  part, 
and  the  consciousness  that  such  a  part  was 
altogether  out  of  her  power  to  maintain. 
Yet,  why  had  she  done  it  ? 

That  evening  I  had  a  better  opportunity 
to  compare  these  two  most  beautiful  wom- 
en;  for  beautiful  each  most  certainly  was, 
though  in  a  different  way  from  the  other.  I 
had  already  felt  on  a  former  occasion  the 
bewitching  effect  of  Xora's  manner,  and  I 
had  also  felt  to  a  peculiar  and  memorable 
extent  that  spell  which  had  been  cait  upon 
me  by  Marion's  glance.  Xow  I  could  un- 
derstand the  difl'erence  between  them  and 
my  own  feelings.  For  in  witchery,  Ln  live- 
liness, in  musical  laughter,  in  never-failing 
merriment,  Xora  far  surpassed  all  with  whom 
I  had  ever  met ;  and  for  all  these  reasons 
she  had  in  her  a  rare  power  of  fiiscination. 
But  Marion  was  solemn,  earnest,  intense ; 
and  there  was  that  on  lier  face  which  sent 
my  blood  surging  back  to  my  heart,  as  I 
caught  her  glance.  Xora  was  a  woman  to 
laugh  and  chat  with ;  X'ora  was  kind  and 
gracious,  and  gentle  too ;  X'ora  was  amia- 
ble as  well  as  witty ;  charming  in  manner, 
pi(iuant  in  expression,  inimitable  at  an  an- 
ecdote, with  never-failing  resources,  a  first- 
rate  lady-conversationist,  if  I  may  use  so 
formidable  a  word — in  fact,  a  thoroughly 
fascinating  woman  ;  but  JIarion  ! — Marion 
was  one,  not  to  laugh  with,  but  to  die  for; 
Marion  had  a  face  tha*  ha\  nted  you  ;  a 
glance  that  made  your  heart  leap,  and  your 


.it 


HOME  AGAIN, 


117 


nerves  tingle ;  a  voice  wlioao  deep  intona- 
tions vibrated  tliroii^h  all  your  being  witli 
a  certain  mystic  racaning,  to  follow  you 
after  you  hail  left  her,  and  come  up  again 
in  your  thoughts  by  day,  and  your  dreama 
by  night — Marion  !  why  Nora  could  ha  sur- 
veyed eahnly,  and  all  her  fascinating  power 
analyzed  ;  but  Jfarion  was  a  power  in  her- 
self, who  bewildered  you  and  defied  anal- 
ysis. 

During  that  time  when  N'ora  had  been 
confounded  in  ray  mind  with  the  Lady  of 
the  lee,  she  had  indeed  risen  to  the  chief 
place  in  my  thoughts,  though  my  mind  still 
failed  to  identify  lier  thomuglily.  I  had 
thought  that  I  loved  her,  but  I  had  not.  It 
was  the  Lady  of  the  Ice  whom  I  loved  ; 
and,  when  Marion  had  revealed  herself, 
tlien  all  was  plain,  .\fter  that  revelation 
Nora  sank  into  nothingness,  and  Marion 
was  all  in  all. 

01),  that  evening,  in  that  pleasant  parlor! 
Shall  I  ever  forget  it ! 

Our  talk  was  on  all  things.  Of  course, 
I  made  no  allusion  to  my  journey  over  the 
ice,  and  Nora  soon  saw  that  she  was  free 
from  any  such  unpleasant  and  eml>arrass- 
ing  remarks.  Freed  from  this  fear,  she 
became  herself  again.  Never  was  she  more 
vivacious,  more  sparkling,  or  more  charm- 
ir.g.  O'llalloran  joined  the  conversation  in 
a  manner  that  showed  the  rarest  resources 
of  wit,  of  fun,  and  of  genial  humor.  Marion, 
as  I  said  before,  did  not  hold  aloof,  but  took 
a  part  which  was  subordinate,  it  is  true, 
yet,  to  me,  far  more  effective ;  indeed,  in- 
comparably more  so  than  that  of  the  others. 
Indeed,  I  remember  now  nothing  else  but 
Marion. 

So  the  evening  passed,  and  at  length  the 
ladies  retired.  Nora  bade  mc  adieu  with 
her  usual  cordiality,  and  her  kindly  and 
bewitching  glance  ;  while  Marion's  eyes 
threw  upon  me    their    lustrous    glow,   in 


which  there  was  revealed  a  certain  deep 
and  solemn  earnestness,  that  only  intensi- 
fied, if  such  a  thing  were  possible,  the  spell 
which  she  had  thrown  over  my  soul. 

And  then   it  was  "  s'  a'  warrum." 

Under  the  effects  of  this,  my  host  passed 
through  several  distinct  and  well-u  ed 
moods  or  phases. 

First  of  all,  he  was  excessively  friendly 
and  affectionate.     He  allmled   to  our  late 
adventure,  ainl  expressed  himself  delighted  ♦ 
with  the  result. 

Then  he  became  confidential,  and  ex- 
plained how  it  was  that  he,  an  old  man, 
iiappened  to  have  a  young  wife. 

Fifteen  years  ago,  he  said,  Nora  had 
been  left  under  his  care  by  her  father. 
She  had  lived  in  England  all  lur  life,  where 
she  had  been  educated.  Sh<jrtly  after  he 
had  become  her  guardian  he  had  been  com- 
pelled to  fly  to  America,  on  account  of  his 
connection  with  the  Young-Ireland  party, 
of  which  he  was  a  prominent  member.  He 
had  been  one  of  the  most  vigorous  writers  in 
one  of  the  Dublin  papers,  which  was  most 
hostile  to  British  rule,  and  was  therefore  a 
marked  man.  As  he  did  not  care  about 
imprisonment  or  a  voyage  to  Botany  Bay, 
he  had  come  to  America,  bringing  with  him 
his  ward  Nora,  and  his  little  daughter  Mar- 
ion, then  a  child  of  not  more  than  three  or 
four.  By  this  act  he  had  saved  himself 
and  his  property,  which  was  amply  Snf-  ■ 
ficicnt  for  his  support.  A  few  years  passed 
away,  and  he  found  his  feelings  toward 
Nora  somewhat  different  from  those  of  a 
parent — and  he  also  observed  that  Nora 
looked  upon  him  with  tenderer  feelings  than 
those  of  gratitude. 

"  There's  a  great  diff'erenco  intoirely," 
said  he,  "  between  us  now.  I've  lost  ray 
youth,  but  she's  kept  hers.  But  thin,  at 
that  toime,  me  boy,  Phaylim  O'llalloran 
was  a  moightily  dift'erent  man  from  the  one 


llji 


i' 


118 


THE  LADY  OF  TIIK  ICK. 


i 


I  r 


if 


jou  sec  before  you.  I  was  not  much  over 
forty — iu  me  proline — fouling  as  young  as 
ouy  of  thini,  an'  It  wasn't  an  onnatural 
thing  that  I  aliouUl  win  tlie  love  of  ayvcn 
ft  young  gyurrul,  so  it  wasn't.  An'  so  sIr' 
beeume  me  woift — my  Nora — me  dnrlin' — 
the  loight  of  me  loifo.  And  she's  accom- 
paiiieil  me  iver  since  on  all  my  wandhor- 
in's  and  pliclandherin's,  and  has  made  the 
home  of  the  poor  ixoile  a  paradoise,  so  she 
has." 

All  this  was  very  confidential,  and  such 
a  confidence  would  probably  never  have 
been  given,  had  it  not  been  for  the  eftects 
of  "  soracthiu'  warrum ; "  but  it  showed  me 
several  things  in  the  plainest  manner.  The 
Cisl  was,  that  Nora  must  be  over  thirty, 
at  any  rate,  and  was  therefore  very  much 
older  than  I  had  taken  her  to  be.  Again, 
her  English  accent  and  style  could  he  ac- 
counted for ;  and  finally  the  equally  English 
accent  and  style  of  Marion  could  be  under- 
stood and  accounted  for  on  the  grounds  of 
Nora's  influence.  For  a  child  always  catches 
the  accent  of  its  mother  rather  (han  of  its 
father,  and  Nora  must,  for  nearly  fifteen 
years,  have  been  a  sort  of  mother,  more  or 
kss,  to  Jfarion. 

And  now,  why  the  mischief  did  Nora  pre- 
tend to  be  my  Lady  of  the  Ice,  and  iu  the 
very  prescuee  of  Marion  try  to  maintain  a 
part  which  she  eould  not  carry  out?  And 
why,  if  she  were  sueh  a  loving  and  faithful 
wife,  did  she  delibenitely  deceive  the  con- 
fiding O'Halloran,  and  make  him  believe 
that  she  was  the  one  whom  I  had  saved  ? 
It  was  certainly  not  from  any  want  of 
love  for  him.  It  must  have  been  some 
scheme  of  hers  which  sho  had  formed 
in  connection  with  Slarion.  I5ut  what 
in  the  world  could  such  a  scheme  liave 
been,  and  why  in  the  world  had  she  formed 
it? 
This  was  the  puzzling  question  that  arose 


afresh,  as  O'Halloran  detailed  to  mo  very 
confidentially  the  history  of  this  romantic.; 
experience  in  his  life. 

I!ut  this  was  only  one  of  his  moods,  and 
this  mood  jiassed  away.  The  romantic  and 
the  confidential  was  succeeded  by  the  liter- 
ary and  the  scholastic,  with  a  dash  of  the 
humorous. 

A  trivial  remark  of  mine,  in  the  course 
of  some  literary  criticisms  of  his,  turned  his 
thoughts  to  the  subject  of  puns.  He  ut 
once  jjlungcd  into  the  history  of  puns.  He 
(luoti'd  Aristophanes,  Plautus,  Terence, 
Cicero.  Ho  brought  forward  illustrations 
from  Shakespeare,  Ben  Jonson,  Jlilton, 
Furitan  writers,  Congreve,  Cowiicr,  and 
others,  until  he  concluded  with  Hood, 
who  he  declared  had  first  unfolded  to 
the  human  mind  the  possibility  of  the 
pun. 

From  this  he  passed  off  lightly  and  eas- 
ily into  other  things,  and  finally  glided  into 
the  subject  of  mediu;val  Latin.  This,  he 
assciied,  was  born  and  nourished  under 
peculiar  circumstances,  so  different  from 
classical  Latin  as  to  be  almost  a  new  lan- 
guage, yet  fully  equal  to  it  in  all  the  best 
eharaetcristics  of  a  language.  He  defied 
lue  to  find  any  thing  in  classical  poetry  that 
would  compare  with  the  "  Dies  Ira*,"  the 
"  i^tabat  Mater,"  or  the  "  Hhytlim  of  Ber- 
nard de  Morlaix."  As  I  was  and  am  rather- 
rusty  in  Latin,  I  did  not  accept  the  chal- 
lenge. Then  he  asserted  that  medianal 
Latin  was  so  comprehensive  in  its  scope 
that  it  was  equally  good  for  the  convivial 
and  for  the  solemn,  and  could  speak  equally 
well  the  sentiments  of  fun,  love,  and  reli- 
gion. He  proved  this  by  quotations  from 
the  immortal  Walter  Mapes.  He  over- 
whelmed me,  in  fact,  with  {piotations.  I 
caved  in.  I  was  suppressed.  I  became 
extinct.  Finally  he  ofiercd  to  show  me  an 
original  song  of  his  own,  which  he  asserted 


FIJOM   APRIL  TO  JUNE. 


119 


wna  "  iminintly  shooteJ  to  the  prisint  occa- 
pion." 

As  I  had  no  other  way  of  showin„  my 
opinion  of  it,  I  begged  the  paper  from  him, 
and  give  hero  a  true  copy  of  it,  vvrlnitliii  li 
litrralim,  notes  and  all : 

PllELIMII   IIAIXORAXII  CVKMEX. 

OiniiibuB  Illbonilcls 

Semper  cat  ex  raoro 
Vino  curas  pclloro 

Aiit  raoiitano  roro ;  • 
It)  (iiii  nosclt  blbere, 

Aiit  est  cito  satur, 
lUo,  Pol !  mejudicc 

ParvuH  est  potator.t 

Omnibus  Americla 

Semper  est  In  ore 
Tuba,  frondes  habeas  es 

Nlcotlno  floro; 
Dcnsis  fuml  nubibus 

Et  vlvuiit  et  niDvent, 
Hoc  est  summum  ijamlium 

Sic  To  Baccho  1  fovent.J 

Omnia  tunc  Illbcmlcus 

iligret  Bine  mora, 
Veniat  Amcrlcara 

Vivat  hac  in  era, 
No9tram  Bnccara  capiat,  § 

Et  montanura  rorom, 
Erit,  Pol  I  Americus  1 

lu  eecula  soiculoruni. 
Amen. 

•  .Von/ano  rore—cf.,  id.  Hib.,  mountain-iiew  ; 
item,  id.  Scot.,  Ilib.,  et  Amer.,  whiskey. 

t  Parvus  potator—ct,  id.  Amer.,  small  pota- 
ter. 

X  Te  Bacche—ct,  Id.  Amer.,  Tibuccy,  i.  e., 
tobacco. 

§  Baccam—iix  America  vulgo  dlci  eolet, 
Backy. 

I  Americui—nt.,  Id.  Amer.,  a  merry  cuss. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

KKOM  .M'ltlL  TO  JUNE. — TEMPOltA  MI'TANTtn, 
KT  NOd  MlTAMrn  IN  ILLIS. — STAUTLINO 
CHANGE  I.V  MARION  ! — AND  WH?  ? — JACK 
AND  HIS  WOES. — THE  VENOEANCE  OF  MISS 
rniLLIl'H. — LADIES  WHO  IIKFCSE  TO  ALLOW 
TIIEin  HEAUT-S  TO  BE  BnOKEN. — NOIILE  AT- 
TITUDE or  THE  WIDOW. — CONSOLATIONS  OF 
jCIE. 

Time  passed  on,  and  week  succeeded  to 
week,  without  any  occurrence  of  a  decisive 
nature.  April  died  out.  May  passed,  and 
June  came.  Then  all  the  trees  l)urst  into 
leaf,  and  the  fields  arrayed  themselves  in 
green,  and  all  Nature  gave  one  grand  leap 
from  winter  into  summer. 

During  uU  this  time  I  was  a  constant  and 
a  favored  guest  at  O'llalloran's.  I  really 
don't  think  I  over  went  anywhere  else.  I 
cut  off  all  visits  to  others — that  is,  in  the 
evening— and  went  there  only.  O'llalloran 
always  received  me  with  the  same  cor- 
diality, and  the  ladies  always  met  me  with 
the  same  smile. 

.So  many  evenings  in  that  comfortable 
parlor,  so  many  chats  with  the  ladies,  so 
many  interviews  with  my  host,  could  not 
fail  to  bring  us  nearer  together.  Such 
was,  indeed,  the  case  with  O'llalloran  and 
Nora;  but  with  Marion  it  was  different. 
There  was,  indeed,  between  us  the  con- 
sciousness of  a  common  secret,  and  she 
could  not  fail  to  see  in  my  manner  somo- 
tliing  warmer  than  common  —  something 
more  tender  than  friendship,  for  instance 
— something,  in  fact,  which,  without  being 
at  all  spoonev,  was  still  expressive  of  very 
delicate  regard.  Yet  there  came  over  her 
something  which  excited  my  fears,  and 
filled  me  with  gloomy  forebodings.  She 
seemed  to  lo")e  that  cordialitv  which  she 


'f 


1 

J 


I  1 1 

1  fe 


!! 


120 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


evinced  on  tlint  first  evening  wlicn  I  taliccd 
with  iier  aloiip.  Slio  never  threw  at  me 
tliose  (loop  f^laiK'os  which  tlion  liiul  niuilo 
my  nerves  tingle.  She  seenicd  con.stiained 
nncl  reserved.  Only  in  Hpcaiting  ti>  me, 
tiiere  was  always  lu  her  voloc  nn  indofin- 
ablo  swectnefs  and  gcntK'ne.sH,  whieli  made 
her  tones  ring  in  my  memory  afterward 
liiic  Bolt  mu.xie.  That  .showed  nic  that 
there  was  no  coldness  on  her  part ;  and  bo, 
too,  when  I  did  catch  at  timori  the  glance 
of  her  dark  eyes,  tliero  was  something  in 
them  so  timid,  so  soft,  and  fo  shy,  that  I 
could  not  think  of  her  as  wearying  of  mo. 
Yet  this  Marion,  timid,  tender,  and  shy ; 
this  Marion,  holding  aloof  under  cviilcnt 
coof^traint,  keeping  apart,  giving  mc  no 
opportunity ;  this  Marion,  who  had  now  ex- 
changed the  intensity  and  the  solcninily  of 
f'onuor  days  for  something  so  very  diflbrrnt 
— ijccame  a  puz/.le  to  mo. 

Why  hud  she  changed  ?  AVas  it  her  re- 
turning regard  for  Jack  ?  Impossihle.  Ilis 
name  had  several  times  heen  mentioned 
without  causing  any  emotion  in  her.  His 
npproaehing  marriage  with  Mrs.  Finnimorc 
had  once  heen  mentioned  liy  N'orn,  who 
spoke  of  it  as  an  interesting  item  of  news. 
Marion  he.ird  it  with  indill'erence.  Or  was 
she  trying  to  withdraw  from  any  further 
intimacy  with  me  ?  Was  she  suspicious 
of  my  intentions,  and  desirous  of  giving  me 
no  Lope  ?  Was  she  trying  to  repel  me  at 
t'  -  outset?  It  seemed  so.  And  so  a  great 
lually  arose  in  my  heart, 
.cent  the  time  away,  and  toward  the 

aer  part  of  May  and  the  beginning  of 
June  I  used  to  take  the  ladies  out  driving, 
hoping  that  these  new  eireumstaneea  might 
elicit  some  show  of  cordiality  in  Marion. 
But  this  proved  a  complete  failure ;  for, 
the  closer  we  were  thrown  together,  the 
greater  seemed  her  shy  reticence,  her  timid 
reserve,  and  her  soft  and  gentle  yet  per- 


sistent manner  of  keeping  mc  at  a  dis- 
tance. 

And  so,  hero  was  I.  I  had  foinid  my 
Lady  of  the  Ice  ;  yet  no  sooner  had  I  found 
her  than  she  withdrew  herself  to  an  inac- 
cessible height,  and  seemed  now  as  far  out 
of  my  reach  as  on  that  eventful  morning 
when  I  sought  her  at  the  hut  at  Montmo- 
rency, ami  found  that  she  had  lleil. 

H|iending  so  much  time  as  I  did  at  O'llal- 
loran's,  I  did  not  sec  so  much  of  Jack  as 
before ;  yet  he  used  to  dri)])  in  from  time 
to  time  in  the  miming,  and  pour  forth  the 
sorrows  of  bis  sold. 

Jlarion's  name  ho  never  mentioned. 
Either  he  had  forgotten  all  about  her,  which 
was  not  imiinibalile;  or  the  subject  was  too 
painfnl  a  one  for  liiiu  to  touch  upon,  which 
also  was  not  improbable ;  or,  finally,  her 
alVair  became  overshadowed  by  other  and 
weightier  matters,  which  was  in  the  highest 
degree  natural. 

His  first  great  trouble  arose  from  the  ac- 
tion of  Miss  I'hiUips. 

He  had  gone  there  a  second  time  to  call, 
and  had  again  been  told  that  she  was  not 
at  home.  He  turned  away  vowing  ven- 
geance, br.t  in  the  following  morning  found 
that  vengeance  was  out  of  the  question; 
for  he  received  a  parcel,  containing  all  the 
letters  which  he  had  ever  written  to  Miss 
rhilli[)s,  and  all  the  presents  that  he  had 
ever  given  her,  with  a  polite  note,  request- 
ing the  rctmn  uf  her  letters.  This  was  a 
blow  that  he  was  not  prepared  for.  It 
struek  home.  However,  there  was  uo  hel]) 
for  it — ?o  he  returned  her  letters,  and  then 
came  to  me  with  all  kinds  of  vague  threats. 

Such  threats,  however,  could  not  be  car- 
ricd  out ;  and  us  for  Miss  riiillips,  she  was 
(luite  beyond  the  reach  of  them.  She  ac- 
cepted the  situation  wonderfully  well.  She 
did  more — she  triumphed  over  it.  In  a 
short  time  she  had  others  at  her  feet,  prom- 


JBff 


FROM  APRIL  TO  JUNE. 


121 


Incnt  nmnng  whom  was  Colonel  IJIount — a 
(liisliliif;  officer,  a  Victona  Cross,  and  a 
no1)lo  fellow  in  every  renpect.  Thus  Miri;< 
Phillips  rc\'cngcd  herself  on  Jack.  Rho 
tossed  him  aside  cooU)  and  contemptuously, 
nil'  replaced  him  with  a  man  whom  .lack 
himself  felt  to  ho  his  superior.  And  nil  this 
was  gall  and  wormwood  to  Jack.  And,  what 
was  more,  he  was  devoured  with  jealousy. 

The  worst  thinp;  ahoiit  it  all,  however,  was 
the  crushing  lilow  which  it  gave  to  his  self- 
love.  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  ho  was 
very  much  taken  down,  on  one  occasion, 
when  I  informed  him  incidentally  that 
Marion  was  in  excellent  spirits,  and  was 
Baid  to  be  in  better  health  than  she  had 
known  for  years.  Miss  Phillips's  policy, 
however,  was  a  severer  blow.  For  it  had 
all  along  been  liis  firm  belief  that  his 
tangled  love-alfairs  eoiild  not  end  without 
a  broken  heart,  or  melancholy  madness,  or 
life-long  sorrow,  or  even  death,  to  one  or 
more  of  his  victims.  To  save  them  from 
such  a  fate,  he  talked  of  suicide.  All  this 
was  highly  romantic,  fearfully  melodra- 
matic, and  even  mysteriously  tragic.  But, 
unfortunately  for  Jack's  self-conceit,  the 
event  did  not  coincide  with  these  highly- 
colored  views.  The  ladies  refused  to  break 
their  hearts.  Those  organs,  however  sus- 
ceptible and  tender  they  may  have  been, 
beat  bravely  on.  Xumber  Three  viewed  him 
with  indifference,  llias  Phillips  coolly  and 
contemptuously  cast  him  oil",  and  nt  once 
found  new  consolation  in  the  devotion  of 
another.  Broken  hearts  !  Melancholy  mad- 
ness! Life-long  sorrow  !  Not  they,  indeed. 
They  didn't  think  of  him.  They  didn't  con- 
fide their  wrongs  to  any  avenger.  Xo  broth- 
er or  other  male  relative  sent  Jack  a  chal- 
lenge. He  was  simply  dropped.  IIo  was 
forgotten.  Xow  any  one  may  see  the 
chagrin  which  such  humiliation  must  have 
caused  to  one  of  Jack's  temper. 


And  liow  did  the  widow  treat  Jack  all 
this  time y  Thowid()'.v!  She  v.us  sublime  ; 
for  she  sliowed  at  once  the  fostering  oare 
of  a  mother,  and  the  forgiveness  of  a  sal. it. 
Forgiveness  ?  That's  not  the  word.  I  a  n 
wrong.  She  showed  nothing  of  the  kin  1. 
On  tlio  contrary,  she  evinced  no  eonsciou.i- 
ness  whatever  that  iiny  oH'onco  had  been 
committed.  If  Jack  had  deceived  her  as  to 
.Miss  Phillips,  she  showed  no  knowledge  of 
such  deceit;  if  he  had  foriiieil  other  entan- 
glements of  which  he  had  never  told  her, 
she  never  let  him  know  whether  she  had 
found  out  or  not ;  if  Jack  went  every  even- 
ing to  console  himself  with  Louie,  any  dis- 
covery which  the  widow  may  bavo  made  of 
so  very  interesting  yet  transparent  a  fact 
was  never  olludcd  to  by  her.  Such  was  the 
lofty  ground  wliich  the  widow  took  in  ref- 
erence to  Jack  and  his  affairs,  and  such  was 
the  manner  with  wliich  she  viewed  him  and 
them — a  manner  elevated,  serene,  culm,  un- 
troubled— a  manner  always  the  same.  For 
she  seemed  above  all  care  for  such  things. 
Too  high-minded,  you  know.  Too  lofty  in 
soul,  my  boy,  and  all  tliat  sort  of  thing. 
Like  some  tall  cliff  that  rears  its  awful  form, 
swells  from  the  vale,  and  midway  cleaves 
the  storm,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  Such  was 
tlie  demeanor  of  the  widow  Finniniore. 

She  was  so  kind  and  cordial  that  Jack 
had  not  a  word  to  say.  After  a  few  days  of 
absence,  during  which  he  had  not  dared  to 
call  on  her,  he  had  ventured  back,  and  was 
greeted  with  the  gentlest  of  reproaches  for 
his  neglect,  and  .vos  treated  with  an  elabo- 
ration of  kindness  that  was  positively  crush- 
ing. So  ho  had  to  go,  and  to  keep  going. 
Slie  would  not  suffer  a  single  cloud  to  arise 
'■"etween  them.  An  unvarying  sweetness 
diffused  itself  evermore  over  her  very  pret- 
ty face,  and  through  all  the  tones  of  her 
very  musical  voice.  And  so  Jack  was  held 
fast,  bound    by  invisible    yet   iufrangiblo 


'r  M' 


;.ii'  ^' 


122 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


I  ^H.ir 


1. 

i 


i 

11 

H 

bonds,  and  liis  soul  was  kept  in  complete 
subjection  by  the  superior  ascendency  of 
the  widow. 

So  he  went  to  sec  her  every  day.  About 
six,  generally  dined  there.  Always  left  at 
eight,  or  just  as  dinner  was  over.  Not 
much  time  for  tenderness,  of  course.  Jack 
didn't  feel  particularly  inclined  for  that  sort 
of  thing.  The  widow,  on  the  other  hand, 
did  not  lay  any  stress  on  that,  nor  did  she 
allow  herself  to  suspect  that  Jack  was  alto- 
gether too  cold  for  a  lover.  Xot  she.  Beam- 
ing, my  bo'  All  smiles,  you  know.  Al- 
ways the  same.  Glad  to  see  him  when  he 
came — a  pleasant  smile  of  adieu  at  parting. 
In  fact,  altogether  a  model  fianclr,  such  as 
is  not  often  met  with  in  this  vale  of  tears. 

Now  always,  after  leaving  this  good,  kind, 
smiling,  cordial,  pretty,  clever,  fascinating, 
serene,  accomplishrd,  hospitable,  and  alto- 
gether unparalleled  widow.  Jack  woidd 
calmly,  quietly,  and  deliberately  go  over 
to  the  Bertons',  and  stay  there  as  long  as 
he  could.  AVhatfor?  Was  he  not  merely 
heaping  up  sorrow  for  himself  in  continuin'^ 
so  ardently  this  Platonic  attachment  ?  For 
Louie  there  was  no  danger.  According  to 
Jack,  she  still  kept  up  her  teasing,  (luizzing, 
and  laughing  mood.  Jack's  break-up  with 
Miss  Phillips  was  a  joke,  lie  had  confided 
to  her  th:it  lie  had  also  broken  off  with 
Number  Three;  and,  though  she  could  not 
find  out  the  cause,  this  became  another 
joke.  Finally,  his  present  attitude  with 
regard  to  the  widow  was  viewed  by  her  as 
the  best  joke  of  all.  She  assured  him  that 
the  widow  was  to  be  his  fate,  and  that  she 
had  driven  the  others  from  the  field,  so  as 
to  have  him  exclusively  to  herself. 

And  thus  Jack  alternated  and  vibrated 
between  the  widow  and  Louie,  and  all  his 
entanglements  were  now  rediced  to  these 
two. 

Such  is   a   full,  frank,  fair,  free,  ample, 


lucid,  and  luminous  explanation  of  the 
progress  of  affairs,  which  explanation  was 
necessary  in  order  to  make  the  reader  fully 
understand  the  fe'l  meaning  of  what  fol- 
lows. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 

jack's  TIlinULATIOSS. — THEV  rtlSE  UP  IN  THE 
VKRY  FACE  OF  THE  MOST  ASTONISniNQ  GOOD 
FOKTUNKS. — FOR,  WHAT  IS  LIKE  A  LEGA- 
CY ? — AND  THIS  COMES  TO  JACK  ! — SEVEN 
THOUSAND  POUNDS  STERLING  PER  ANNUM  ! — 
liUT  what's  the  use  OF  IT  ALL  ? — JACK 
COMES  TO  GRIEF  ! — WOE  !  SORROW  !  DE- 
SPAIR !  ALL  THE  WIDOW  ! — INFATUATION. — 
A  MAD  PROPOSAL. — A  MADMAN,  A  LUNATIC, 
AN  IDIOT,  A  MARCH  HARE,  AND  A  HATTEIt, 
ALL  ROLLED  INTO  ONE,  AND  THAT  ONE  THE 
LUCKY   VET   UNFORTUNATE  JACK. 

Jack  had  been  falling  off  more  and 
more.  I  was  taken  up  with  the  O'llallo- 
rans;  he,  with  those  two  points  between 
which  he  oscillated  like  a  pendulum ;  and 
our  intercourse  diminished,  until  at  length 
days  would  intervene  without  a  meeting  be- 
tween us. 

It  was  in  the  middle  of  June. 

I  had  not  seen  Jack  for  more  than  a 
week. 

Suddenly,  I  was  reminded  of  him  by  a 
startling  rumor  that  reached  my  ears  after 
every  soul  in  the  garrison  and  in  the  city 
had  heard  it.  It  referred  to  Jack.  It  was 
nothing  about  the  widow,  nothing  about 
Louie,  nothing  about  JIurion,  nothing  about 
5'iss  Phillips. 

It  did  not  refer  to  duns. 

He  had  not  been  nablied  by  the  sheriff. 

He  had  not  put  an  end  to  himself. 

In  short,  the  news  was,  that  an  uncle  of 
his  had  died,  and  left  him  a  fortune  of  un- 


i  li 


IHSil 


mtsmm 


JACK'S  TRIBULATIONS. 


123 


known  proportions.  Omne  ijnotum  jieo 
mlrijico,  of  course  ;  and  so  up  went  Jack's 
fortune  to  twenty  thousand  a  year.  Jack 
had  told  nie  about  that  uncle,  and  I  had 
reason  to  know  that  it  was  at  least  six  or 
seven  thousand;  and,  let  me  tell  you,  six 
or  seven  thousand  pounds  per  annum  isn't 
to  be  laughed  at. 

So  hero  was  Jack — raised  up  in  a  moment 
— far  above  the  dull  level  of  debt,  and  duns, 
and  despair;  raised  to  an  upper  and,  I  trust, 
a  better  world,  where  swarms  of  duns  can 
never  arise,  and  bailiffs  never  come  ;  raised, 
my  ])oy,  to  a  region  of  serene  delight, 
where,  like  the  gods  of  Epicurus,  he  might 
survey  from  his  cloudless  calm  the  darkness 
and  the  gloom  of  the  lower  world.  A  for- 
tune, by  Jove !  Seven  thousand  pounds 
sterling  a  year  !  Hard  cash  !  Why,  the 
thing  fairly  took  my  breath  away.  I  sat 
down  to  grapple  with  the  stupendous 
thought.  Aha !  where  would  the  duns  be 
now  ?  What  would  those  miserable  devils 
say  now,  that  had  been  badgering  him  with 
lawyers'  letters  ?  Wouldn't  they  all  haul 
off?  Methought  they  would.  Methouglit! 
why,  meknew  they  would — mefaucied  how 
they  would  fawn,  and  cringe,  and  apologze, 
and  explain,  and  lick  the  dust,  and  oflTer  to 
polish  his  noble  boots,  and  present  them- 
selves for  the  honor  of  being  kicked  by 
him.  Nothing  is  more  degrading  to  out 
common  humanity  than  the  attitude  of  a 
creditor  toward  a  poor  debtor — except  the 
attitude  of  that  same  creditor,  when  he 
learns  that  his  debtor  lias  suddenly  be- 
come rich. 

Having  finally  succeeded  in  mastering 
this  great  idea,  I  Jiurried  off  to  Jack  to 
I  ngratulate  Uim. 

I  Ibiiud  him  in  his  room.  lie  was  lying 
down,  looking  very  blue,  very  dismal,  and 
utterly  used  up.  At  first,  I  did  not  notice 
this,  but  burst  forth  in  a  torrent  of  congra- 


tulations, shaking  his  hand  most  violently. 
He  raiseu  himself  slightly  from  the  sofa  on 
which  he  was  reclining,  and  bis  languid 
hand  did  not  return  my  warm  grasp,  nor 
did  his  face  exhii)it  the  slightest  interest 
in  what  I  said.  Seeing  this,  I  stopped 
short  suddenly. 

"  Hallo,  old  boy ! "  I  cried.  "  What's  the 
matter  ?  Any  thing  happened  *  Isn't  it 
true,  then  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Jack,  dolefully,  leaning 
forward,  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  and 
looking  at  the  floor. 

"  Well,  you  don't  seem  very  jubilant 
about  it.  Any  thing  the  matter?  Why, 
man,  if  you  were  dying,  I  should  think 
you'd  rise  up  at  the  idea  of  seven  thousand 
a  year." 

Jack  said  nothing. 

At  such  a  check  as  this  to  my  cnthusi- 
astie  sympathy,  I  sat  in  silence  for  a  time, 
and  looked  at  him.  His  elbows  were  on 
his  knees,  his  face  was  pale,  his  hair  in 
disorder,  and  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
wall  opposite  with  a  vacant  and  abstracted 
stare.  There  was  a  haggard  look  about 
his  handsome  face,  and  a  c.ireworn  expres- 
sion on  his  broad  brow,  which  excited  with- 
in me  the  deepest  sympatl'.y  and  sadness. 
Something  had  happened — something  of 
no  common  kind.  This  was  a  something 
which  was  far,  very  far,  more  serious  than 
those  old  troubles  which  had  op[)rossod 
him.  This  was  something  far  difl'erent 
from  those  old  perplexities — the  entangle- 
ments with  three  engagements.  Amid  all 
those  he  was  nothing  but  a  big,  blunder- 
ing l)aby ;  but  now  he  seemed  like  a  sor- 
row-stricken man.  Where  was  the  light 
of  his  eyes,  the  glory  of  his  brow,  the  nm- 
sic  of  his  voice?  Whore  was  that  glow 
that  once  used  to  pervade  his  fresh,  open, 
sunny  face?  Where!  It  was  Jack — but 
not  the  Jack  of  old.     It  was  Jack — but 


',/!' 


124 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


^! 


'i'l 


"  Alaa  I  how  chnnsod  from  him 
That  life  of  pleasure,  iiud  that  soul  of  wUim  I " 

Or,  as  another  poet  has  it — 

"Twas  Jack— hut  living  Jack  uo  more  I " 

"Jack,"  sail!  I,  afti-r  a  long  and  solemn 
silence,  in  wliich  I  Inl  tried  in  vain  to  con- 
jecture what  might  posisibly  be  tlie  cause 
of  tlii.s — "  Jack,  Jcar  bo\-,  jou  and  I  have 
had  oonfidciices  togetlier,  a  little  out  of  the 
ordinary  line.  I  came  here  to  congratulate 
you  about  your  fortune  ;  but  I  find  you  ut- 
terly cut  up  about  something.  AVill  you 
let  me  ask  you  what  it  is  ?  I  don't  ask  out 
of  idle  curiosity,  but  out  of  sympathy.  At 
the  same  time,  if  it's  any  thing  of  a  private 
nature,  I  beg  pardon  for  asking  you  to  tell 
it." 

Jack  looked  up,  and  a  faint  flicker  of  a 
smile  pa.ssed  over  his  face. 

"  Oh,  all  right,  old  boy  !  "  he  said.  "  I'm 
hit  hard — all  up — and  that  sort  of  thing — 
hit  hard — ye.-s,  damned  hard — serves  mo 
right,  too,  jou  know,  for  being  such  an  in- 
fernal fool." 

He  frowned,  and  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  \Vait  a  minute,  old  chap,"  said  he,  ris- 
ing from  the  soft ;  "  I'll  get  .something  to 
sustain  nature,  and  then  I'll  answer  your 
question.  I'm  glad  you've  come.  I  don't 
know  but  that  it'll  do  nie  good  to  tell  it  all 
to  somebody.  It's  hard  to  stay  here  in  my 
den,  fretting  my  heart  out — damned  hard ! 
— but  wait  a  minute,  and  I'll  explain.'' 

Saying  tliis,  he  walked  over  to  the  side- 
board. 

"  Will  you  take  any  thing? " 

"  Thanks,  no,"  said  I ;  "  a  pipe  is  all  I 
«ivjit."  And  I  proceeded  to  fill  and  light 
one. 

Thereupon  Jack  poured  out  a  tumbler 
of  raw  brandy,  which  he  swallowed.  Then 
he  came  back  to  the  sofa.     A  flush  came 


to  his  face,  and  his  eyes  looked  brighter; 
but  he  had  still  the  same  haggard  aspect. 

"  I'm  in  for  it,  Alacrorie,"  said  he  at  last, 
gloomily. 

"  In  for  it  ?  " 

"Yes — an  infernal  scrape." 

"  What  ?  " 

"  The  widow — damn  her ! "  and  he  struck 
his  clinched  fist  against  the  head  of  the 
sofa. 

"  In  for  it  ?    The  widow  ?  "  I  repeated. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

Jack  drew  a  long  breath,  and  regarded 
me  with  a  fixed  stare. 

"  I  mean,"  said  Jack,  fixing  his  eyes 
upon  me  with  an  awful  look,  "  I  mean  this 
— that  I  have  to  marry  that  woman." 

"  Marry  her  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  exclaimed,  dashing  his  fist 
upon  the  table  savagely,  "  marry  her ! 
There  you  have  it.  I'm  in  for  it.  Xo 
escape.  Escape — ha !  ha !  Nabbed,  sir. 
All  up!  Married  and  done  for — yes,  eter- 
nally done  for ! " 

He  jerked  these  words  out  in  a  fierce, 
feverish  way ;  and  then,  flinging  himself 
back,  he  clasped  his  knees  with  his  hands, 
and  sat  regardin;  me  with  stern  eyes  and 
frowning  brow. 

This  mood  of  Jack's  was  a  singular  one. 
lie  was  evidently  undergoing  great  distress 
of  niind.  Under  such  circumstances  as 
these,  no  levity  coidd  bo  thought  of.  Had 
he  not  been  so  desperate,  I  nnght  have 
ventured  upon  a  jest  about  the  wiiUiw 
driving  the  others  from  the  field  and  com- 
ing  forth  victorious;  but,  as  it  was,  there 
was  no  room  for  jest.  So  I  simply  sat  in 
silence,  and  returned  his  gaze. 

"  Well  y  "  said  he  at  last,  impatiently. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Haven't  you  got  any  thing  to  say  about 
that?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  sav.    Your  man- 


JACK'S  TRIBULATIONS. 


125 


iicr  of  telling  this  tako.<  me  more  by  sur- 
prise than  the  thing  itself.  After  all,  you 
must  have  looked  forwanl  to  this." 

"  Looked  forward  ?  I'll  be  hanged  if  I 
did,  e.xcc'pt  in  a  very  general  way.  Damn 
it,  man!  I  thought  she'd  have  a  little  pity 
on  a  fellow,  and  allow  me  some  liberty.  I 
didn't  look  forward  to  being  shut  up  at 
onee." 

"  At  once  ?  You  speak  as  though  the 
event  were  ne;u\" 

"  Near  ?  I  should  think  it  was.  What 
do  you  say  to  next  week  ?  Is  that  near  or 
not  ?     Near  ?     I  should  rather  think  so." 

"  Next  Week  ?  Cood  Lonl !  Jack,  do  you 
re.illy  mean  it '?     Nonsense  I  " 

"  Next  week — yes — and  worse — on  Tues- 
day— not  the  end,  but  the  bcginnincr,  of  the 
week— Tuesday,  the  2("tth  of  June." 

"  Tuesday,  the  'ioth  of  June  ! ''  I  repeat- 
ed, in  amazement. 

"  Yes,  Tuesday,  the  2i:ith  of  June,"  said 
Jack. 

"  Heavens,  man  !  what  have  you  been  up 
to?  IIow  did  it  happen?  AVhy  diil  you  do 
it?  Couldn't  you  Lave  postponed  it?  It 
t:ikcs  two  to  make  an  agfeement.  What 
do  you  mean  by  lamenting  over  it  now  ? 
Why  didn't  you  get  up  excuses  ?  Haven't 
you  to  go  home  to  see  about  your  estates  ? 
Why,  in  Heaven's  name,  did  you  let  it  be 
nil  arranged  iu  this  way,  if  you  didn't  want 
it  to  be  ?  " 

Jack  looked  at  me  for  a  few  moments 
very  earnestly. 

'•Why  didn't  1?"  said  he,  at  length; 
"  simply  because  I  happen  to  be  an  un- 
mitigated, uncontrollable,  incorrigible,  illi- 
mitable, and  inconceivable  -vss !  That's  the 
reason  why,  if  you  must  know." 

Jack's  very  forcible  way  of  putting  this 
statement  afforded  mo  no  chance  whatever 
of  denying  it  or  combating  it.  His  deter- 
mination to  be  an  ass  was  so  vehement, 


that  remonstrance  was  out  of  the  (ques- 
tion. I  therefore  accepted  it  as  a  probable 
truth. 

For  some  time  I  remained  silent,  looking 
at  Jack,  and  puflSng  solemnly  at  my  pipe. 
In  a  situation  of  this  kind,  or  in  fact  in  any 
situation  where  one  is  expected  to  say 
something,  but  doesn't  happen  to  have  any 
thing  in  particular  to  say,  there's  nothing  in 
the  world  like  a  pipe.  For  the  human  face, 
when  it  is  graced  by  a  pipe,  and  when  the 
pipe  is  being  puffed,  assumes,  somehow,  a 
rare  and  wonderful  expression  of  profound 
and  solemn  thought.  Besides,  the  pres- 
ence of  the  pipe  in  the  mouth  is  a  check 
to  any  overhasty  remark.  Vain  and  empty 
words  are  thus  repressed,  and  thoi'.ght, 
divine  thought,  reigns  supreme.  And  so 
as  I  sat  iu  silence  before  Jack,  if  I  didn't 
have  any  profound  thoughts  in  my  mind, 
I  at  least  had  the  appearance  of  it,  which 
after  all  served  my  purpose  tpiitc  as  well. 

"  I  don't  mind  telling  you  all  about  it, 
old  chap,''  said  Jack,  at  last,  who  had  by 
this  time  passcil  into  a  better  frame  of 
mind,  and  looked  more  like  his  old  self. 
"  You've  known  all  about  the  row,  all 
along,  and  you'll  luave  to  bo  in  at  the 
death,  so  I'll  tell  you  now.  You'll  have  to 
help  me  through — you'll  be  my  best  man, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know — and 
this  is  the  best  time  for  making  a  clean 
breast  of  it,  you  know :  so  here  goes." 

Upon  this  Jack  drew  a  long  breath,  and 
then  began : 

"  I've  told  you  already,"  he  said,  "  how 
abominably  kind  she  was.  You  know  when 
I  called  on  her  after  the  row  with  5Iis3 
Phillips,  how  sweet  she  was,  and  all  that, 
and  liow  I  settled  down  on  the  oM  terms. 
I  hadn't  the  heart  to  get  up  a  row  with 
her,  and  hadn't  even  the  idea  of  such  a 
thing.  When  a  lady  is  civil,  and  kind,  and 
all  that,  what  can  a  fellow  do  ?    So  you  sec 


126 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


} 

i! 


:  "i 


I  went  there  as  regular  as  clock-work,  and 
dined,  and  then  left.  Fomctiraes  I  went  at 
gix,  and  stayed  till  eight ;  sometimes  at  five, 
and  stayed  till  nine.  But  that  was  very 
seldom.  Sometimes,  you  know,  ehe'd  get 
nic  talking,  and  somehow  the  time  would 
fly,  and  it  would  be  ever  so  late  before  I 
could  get  away.  I'm  always  an  ass,  and 
80  I  felt  tickled,  no  end,  at  her  unfailing 
kindness  to  me,  and  took  it  all  as  so  much 
incense,  and  all  that — I  was  her  deity,  you 
know — snuffing  up  incense — receiving  her 
devotion — feeling  half  sorry  that  I  couldn't 
quite  reciprocate,  and  making  an  infernal 
fool  of  myself  gcneralh-. 

"  Xow  you  know  I'm  such  a  confounded 
ass  that  her  very  reticence  about  my  other 
affairs,  and  her  quiet  way  of  taking  them, 
rather  piqued  me ;  and  several  times  I  throw 
out  hints  about  them,  to  see  what  she  would 
say.  At  such  times  she  would  smile  in  a 
knowing  way,  but  say  nothing.  At  last 
there  was  one  evening — it  was  a  little  over 
a  week  ago — I  went  there,  and  found  her 
more  cordial  than  ever,  more  amusing,  more 
fascinating — kinder,  you  know,  and  all  that. 
There  was  no  end  to  her  little  attentions, 
(^f  course  all  that  sort  of  thing  had  on 
mo  the  eflfect  which  it  always  has,  and  I 
rapidly  began  to  make  an  ass  of  myself.  I 
began  to  hint  about  those  other  affairs — and 
at  last  I  told  her  I  didn't  believe  she'd  for- 
given me." 

Here  Jack  made  an  awful  pause,  and 
looked  at  me  in  deep  solemnity. 

I  said  nothing,  but  puffed  away  in  my 
usual  thoughtful  manner. 

"  The  moment  that  I  said  that,"  con- 
tinued .Tack,  "  she  turned  and  gave  me  the 
strangest  look.  'Forgiven  you,'  said  she; 
'after  all  that  has  passed,  can  yow  say 
that?' 

" '  Well,'  I  said,  '  you  don't  Bccm  alto- 
gether what  you  used  to  be — ' 


"  '  I ! '  she  exclaimed.  '  I  not  what  I 
used  to  be  ? — and  t/oii  can  look  me  in  the 
face  and  say  tiiat.' 

"  And  now,  Macrorie,  listen  to  what  an 
ass  can  do. 

"  You  see,  her  language,  her  tone,  and 
her  look,  all  piqued  me.  But  at  the  same 
time  I  didn't  know  what  to  say.  I  didn't 
love  her — confound  her  I — and  I  knew  that 
I  didn't — but  I  wanted  to  assert  myself,  or 
some  other  damned  thing  or  other — so  what 
did  I  do  bnt  take  her  hand." 

I  puffed  on. 

"  She  leaned  back  in  her  chair. 

"  '  Ah,  Jack,'  she  sigheil,  '  I  don't  believe 
you  care  any  thing  for  poor  me.'  " 

Jack  paused  for  a  while,  and  sat  looking 
at  the  floor. 

"  Which  was  quite  true,"  he  continued, 
at  last.  "  Only  under  the  circumstances, 
being  thus  challenged,  you  know,  by  a  very 
pretty  widow,  and  being  an  ass,  and  being 
conceited,  and  being  dazzled  by  the  sur- 
roundings, what  did  I  do  but  begin  to 
swear  that  I  loved  her  better  than  ever? 

"  '  And  me  alone ! '  she  sighed. 

"  '  Yes,  you  alone ! '  I  cried,  and  then 
went  on  in  the  usual  strain  in  which  im- 
passioned lovers  go  under  such  circum- 
stances, but  with  this  very  material  dilTer- 
ence,  that  I  didn't  happen  to  be  an  im- 
passioned lover,  or  any  other  kind  of  a 
lover  of  hers  at  all,  and  I  knew  it  all  the 
time,  and  all  the  time  felt  a  secret  horror 
at  what  I  was  saying. 

"  But  the  fact  of  the  business  is,  Macro- 
rie, that  woman  is — oh — she  is  awfully 
clever,  and  she  managed  to  lead  me  on,  I 
don't  know  how.  She  pretended  not  to 
believe  me — she  hinted  at  my  indifference, 
she  spoke  about  my  joy  at  getting  away 
from  her  so  as  to  go  elsewhere,  and  said  a 
thousand  other  things,  all  of  which  had  the 
effect  of  making  me  more  of  an  ass  than 


mm 


JACK'S  TRIBULATIONS. 


127 


ever,  and  so  I  rushed  headlong  to  destruc- 
tion." 

Here  Jack  paused,  and  looked  at  me  de- 
spairhigly. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  I. 

"Well?"  said  he. 

"  Go  on,"  said  I.  "  Make  an  cud  of  it. 
Out  with  it!    AVhatnext?" 

Jack  gave  a  groan. 

"  Well — you  see — somehow — I  went  on 
— and  before  I  knew  it  there  I  was  offer- 
ing to  marry  her  on  the  spot — and — heav- 
ens and  earth  !  Macrorie — wasn't  it  a  sort 
of  judgment  on  me — don't  you  think?- 
I'd  got  used  to  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know 
— offering  to  marry  people  off  hand,  you 
know,  and  all  that — and  so  it  came  natural 
on  this  occasion ;  and  I  supposo  iti.:t  was 
how  it  happened,  that  before  I  knew  what  I 
was  doing  I  had  pi;  ed  out  a  violent  and 
vehement  entreaty  lor  her  to  be  mine  at 
once. — Yes,  at  once — any  time — that  even- 
ing— the  next  day — the  day  after — no  mat- 
ter when.  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  can  say  now 
whether  at  that  moment  I  was  really  sin- 
cere or  not.  I'm  such  a  perfect  and  fin- 
ished rss,  that  I  really  believe  I  meant 
what  I  said,  and  at  that  time  I  really 
wanted  her  to  marry  me.  If  that  con- 
founded chaplain  that  goes  humbugging 
about  there  all  the  time  had  happened  to 
be  in  the  room,  I'd  have  asked  him  to  tie 
the  knot  on  the  spot.  Yes,  I'll  be  hanged 
if  I  wouldn't!  His  not  being  there  is  the 
only  reason,  I  believe,  why  the  knot  wasn't 
tied.  In  that  case  I'd  now  be  Mr.  Fiuni- 
moro — no,  by  Jove — what  rot ! — I  mean  I'd 
now  be  her  husband,  and  she'd  be  Mrs. 
Randolph — confound  her  !  " 

Jack  again  relapsed  into  silence.  lUs 
confession  was  a  dilTicult  task  for  him,  and 
it  came  hard.  It  was  given  piecemeal,  like 
the  confession  of  a  murderer  on  the  day 
before  his  execution,  when  his  desire  to  con- 


fess struggles  with  Lis  unwillingness  to  re- 
call the  particulars  of  an  abhorrent  deed, 
and  when  after  giving  one  fact  he  delays 
and  falters,  and  lapses  into  long  silence  be- 
fore he  is  willing  or  able  to  give  another. 

"  Well,  after  that,"  he  resumed,  at  last, 
"  I  was  fairly  in  for  it — no  hope,  no  going 
back  —  no  escapes—  ....j.j  '  my  boy  — 
nabbed — gone  in  forever — hcaa  over  heels, 
and  all  the  rest  of  it.  The  widow  was 
affected  by  my  vehemence,  as  a  matter  of 
course — she  stammered — she  hesitated,  and 
''urse,  being  an  ass,  I  was  only  made 
0  vehement  by  nil  that  sort  of  thing, 
you  knovv.  So  I  urged  her,  and  pressed 
Iier,  and  then,  before  I  knew  what  I  was 
about,  I  found  her  coyly  granting  my  insane 
request  to  name  the  day." 

"  Oh,  Jack  !  Jack  !  Jack  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Go  on,''  said  he.  "  Haven't  you  some- 
thing more  to  say  ?  Pitch  in.  Give  it  to 
me  hot  and  heavy.  You  don't  seem  to  be 
altogether  eiiual  to  the  occasion,  Macrorie. 
Why  don't  you  hit  hard  ?  " 

"  Can't  do  it,"  said  I.  "  I'm  knocked 
down  myself.  Wait,  and  I'll  come  to  time. 
But  don't  be  too  hard  on  a  fellow.  Be 
reasonable.     I  want  to  take  breath." 

"Name  the  day!  name  the  day!  name 
the  day ! "  continued  Jack,  ringing  the 
changes  on  the  words ;  "  name  the  day ! 
By  Jove  !  See  here,  Macrorie — can't  you 
get  a  doctor's  certificate  for  me  and  have 
me  quietly  put  in  the  lunatic  asylum  before 
that  day  comes  ?  " 

"That's  not  a  bad  idea,"  said  I.  "It 
might  be  managed.  It's  worth  thinking 
about,  at  any  rate." 

"  Wild !"  said  Jack,  "mad  as  a  March 
hare,  or  a  hatter,  or  any  other  thing  of 
that  sort  —  ungovernable —  unmanageable, 
devoid  of  all  sense  and  reason — what  more 
do  you  want  ?  If  I  am  not  a  lunatic,  who 
is  ?    That's  what  I  want  to  know." 


1:28 


THE  LADY  OF  TIIK  ICE. 


f- 


"  Tlicro's  a  groat  deal  of  reason  in  that," 
said  I,  gravoly. 

"Xo  there  isn't,"  said  Jack,  pi'ltislily. 
"  It's  all  nonsense.  I  tell  yon  I'm  a  mad- 
man, a  lunatic,  an  idiot,  any  thing  else.  I 
don't  ((uitc  need  a  strait-jaekct  as  yet,  l)iit 
I  tell  you  I  do  need  the  seelusion  of  a 
eomfortablc  lunatic  asylum.  I  only  stipu- 
late for  an  oecasional  drop  of  beer,  and  a 
whift'  or  two  at  odd  times.  Don't  you 
think  I  can  manage  it?  " 

"  It  might  lie  worth  trying,"  said  I. 
"  Hut  trot  on,  old  fellow." 

Jack,  thus  recalled  to  himself,  gave  an- 
other very  heavy  sigh. 

"  Whore  was  I  ?  "  said  ho.  "  (Hi,  al)0ut 
naming  the  day.  Well,  I'll  he  hanged  if 
she  didn't  do  it.  She  did  name  the  day. 
And  what  day  do  you  think  it  was  that 
.she  named  ?  What  day  I  (iood  Heavens, 
Macrorie !  Only  think  of  it.  What  do  you 
happen  to  have  to  say,  now,  for  instance,  to 
the  litith  of  June?  lleyV  What  do  you 
say  to  next  Tuesday  ';'  Tuesday,  the  20th 
of  June!  .Next  Tuesday!  Only  think  of 
it.     Mad  !     I  should  rather  think  so." 

I  had  nothing  to  say,  and  so  I  said  noth- 
ing. 

At  this  stage  of  the  proceedings  Jack 
filled  a  pipe,  and  began  smoking  savagely, 
throwing  out  the  pull's  of  smoke  fa.st  and 
furious.  Both  of  us  sat  in  silence,  involved 
in  deep  and  anxious  thought — I  for  him,  he 
for  himself. 

At  last  he  spoke. 

"  That's  all  very  well,"  said  he,  putting 
down  the  pipe,  "  but  I  haven't  yet  told  you 
the  worst." 

"  The  worst  ?  " 

"  Yea ;  there's  something  more  to  be  told 
— something  which  has  brought  me  to  this. 
I'm  not  the  fellow  I  was.  It  isn't  the  wid- 
ow ;  it's  something  else.     It's — 


CIIAPTER  XXXV. 

"I.OIIk!" — rL.vTOMC  FKIESDSJIir. — ITS  RE- 
Sri-TS. — ADVICK  MAV  UK  GIVES  TOO  FREE- 
LY, AND  CONSOLATION  MAV  UE  SOTGUT  KOR 
TOO  KAGEIil.V. — TWO  INKLAMMAIiLE  IIEAIITS 
SlIOfLD  NOT  HE  ALLOWED  TO  COME  TO- 
OETIIEK. — THE  OLII,  OLD  STOUV. — A  lUlEAK- 
IJOWN,  ANP  THE  UESILTS  ALL  AROfXn. — 
THE  CONDEMNED  CIIIMIXAL. — THE  SLOW  YET 
SinE  AITRO.VCU  OF  THE  IIOIU  OF  EXECU- 
TION. 

"It's  Louie!"  said  Jack  again,  after  a 
pause.  "  That's  the  '  hinc  illic  lachrj'nia' ' 
of  it,  as  the  Latin  grammar  has  it." 

"  Louie  ?  "  I  repeated. 

"  Yes,  Louie,"  said  Jack,  sadly  and  sol- 
emnly. 

I  said  nothing.  I  saw  that  something 
more  was  coming,  which  would  allbrd  the 
true  key  to  Jack's  despair.  So  I  waited  in 
silence  till  it  should  come. 

"  As  for  the  widow  herself,"  said  Jack, 
meditatively,  "  she  isn't  a  bad  lot,  and,  if 
it  hadn't  been  for  Iconic,  I  should  have 
taken  all  this  as  an  indication  of  Providence 
that  my  life  was  to  be  lived  out  under  her 
guidance ;  but  then  the  mischief  of  it  is, 
there  happens  to  lie  a  Louie,  and  that 
Louie  happens  to  be  the  very  Louie  that  I 
can't  manage  to  live  without.  You  see 
there's  no  nonsense  about  this,  old  boy. 
You  may  remind  me  of  Miss  I'hillips  and 
Xumber  Three,  but  I  swear  to  you  solemnly 
they  were  both  nothing  compared  with 
Louie.  Louie  is  the  only  one  that  ever 
has  fairly  taken  me  out  of  myself,  and 
fastened  herself  to  all  my  thoughts,  and 
hopes,  and  desires.  Louie  is  the  only  one 
that  has  ever  chained  mo  to  her  in  such  a 
way  that  I  never  wished  to  leave  her  for 
anybody  else.    Louie  I  why,  ever  since  I've 


..vi'i' •■*,.' 


V 


"  LOUIE  ! " 


1l'9 


111,  if 

have 

lence 

Icr  her 

it  IS, 

tliat 

lat  I 

sou 

lioy. 

and 

ciiiiily 

with 

ever 

and 

and 

y  one 

uch  a 

;r  for 

e  I've 


known  her,  all  ibc  rest  of  the  world  and  of 
womankind  has  been  nothing,  and,  beside 
her,  it  all  sank  into  insignificance.  There 
you  have  it!  That's  the  way  I  feel  about 
Louie.  Tho.-'o  other  scrapes  of  mine — what 
are  they  ?  I?o.«b  and  nonsense,  the  absur- 
dities of  a  filly  boy!  But  Louie!  why, 
SIaerorii\  I  iswoar  to  you  that  she  has 
twined  herself  around  me  so  that  the 
thought  of  her  has  changed  vac  from  a 
calf  of  a  boy  into  a  man.  Now  I  know 
it  all.  Now  I  unck-rstand  why  I  followed 
Iicr  up  so  close.  Now,  now,  and  now,  when 
I  know  it  all,  it  is  all  too  late  !  By  Jove,  I 
tell  you  what  it  is,  I've  talked  like  a  fool 
about  suicide,  but  I  swear  I've  been  so 
near  it  lliis  last  week  that  it's  not  a  thing 
to  laugh  at." 

And  Jack  looked  at  me  with  such  a 
wild  face  and  such  fierce  eyes  that  I 
began  to  think  of  the  long-talked-of 
head-stone  of  Anderson's  as  a  possi- 
bility which  was  not  so  very  remote,  after 
all. 

"  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it,"  said  he. 
"It's  a  relief.  I  feel  a  good  deal  better 
already  after  what  I  have  said. 

"  You  see,"  said  he,  after  a  pause,  in 
which  his  frown  grew  darker,  and  his  eyes 
were  fixed  on  vacancy — "  you  see,  that 
evening  I  stayed  a  little  later  than  usual 
with  tl'.e  widow.  At  last  I  hurried  off. 
The  deed  was  done,  and  the  thought  of  this 
made  every  nerve  tingle  within  me.  I  hur- 
ried off  to  see  Louie.  What  the  mischief 
did  I  want  of  Louie  ?  you  may  ask.  My 
only  answer  is  :  I  wanted  her  because  I 
wanted  her.  Xo  day  was  complete  without 
her.  I've  been  living  on  the  sight  of  her 
face  and  the  sound  of  her  voice  for  the 
past  two  months  and  more,  and  never  fair- 
ly knew  it  until  this  last  week,  when  it  has 
all  become  plain  to  me.  So  I  hurried  off 
to  Louie,  because  I  had  to  do  so — because 


every  day  had  to  be  completed  by  the  sight 
of  her, 

"  I  reached  the  house  somewhat  later 
than  usual.  People  were  there.  I  must 
have  looked  different  from  usual.  I  know 
I  was  very  silent,  and  I  must  have  acted 
queer,  you  know.  But  they  were  all  talk- 
ing, and  playing,  and  huiirhing,  and  none 
of  them  took  any  particular  notice.  And 
so  at  last  I  drifted  off  toward  Louie,  as 
usual.  She  was  expecting  me.  I  knew 
that.  She  always  expects  me.  But  this 
time  I  saw  she  was  looking  at  me  with  a 
very  (juecr  expression.  She  saw  some- 
thing unusual  in  my  face.  Naturally 
enough.  I  felt  as  though  I  had  com- 
mitted a  murder.  And  so  I  had.  I  had 
murdered  my  hope — my  love — my  darling 
— my  only  life  and  joy.  I'm  not  humbug- 
ging, Macrorie — don't  chaff,  for  Heaven's 
sake  I " 

I  wasn't  chaffing,  and  had  no  idea  of  such 
a  thing.  I  was  simply  listening,  with  a  very 
painful  sympathy  with  Jack's  evident  emo- 
tion. 

"  We  were  apart  from  the  others,"  he 
continued,  in  a  tremulous  voice.  "  She 
looked  at  me,  and  I  looked  at  her.  I  saw 
trouble  in  her  face,  and  she  saw  trouble  in 
mine.  So  we  sat.  We  were  silent  for 
some  time.  Xo  nonsense  now.  Xo  laugh- 
ter. Xo  more  teasing  and  coaxing.  Poor 
little  Louie !  How  distressed  she  looked  ! 
Where  was  her  sweet  smile  now?  Where 
was  her  laughing  voice  ?  Where  was  her 
bright,  animated  face— her  sparkling  eyes 
—  her  fun  —  her  merriment  —  her  chaff? 
Poor  little  Louie!" 

And  Jack's  voice  died  away  into  a  moau 
of  grief. 

But  he  rallied  again,  and  went  on : 

"  She  asked  me  what  was  the  matter.  I 
told  her — nothing.  But  s'lc  was  sure  that 
something  had  happened,  and  begged  me  to 


130 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


■it 


m 

;i     !■ 

i  i 

hi 

I 

1 
1        ) 

) 
1 

tell  her.  So  I  tolJ  her  all.  Ami  Iicr  face, 
as  I  told  her,  tiirncil  ns  white  as  marble. 
She  seeiueJ  to  grow  rigid  where  she  sat. 
And,  as  I  ended,  she  bent  down  her  head — 
and  she  pressed  her  hand  to  her  forehead 
— and  then  she  gave  me  an  awful  look — a 
look  whieh  will  haunt  mo  to  my  dying  day 
— and  then — and  then — then — she— she 
burst  into  tears — and,  oh,  Macroric — oh, 
Low  she  cried !  " 

And  Jack,  having  stammered  out  this, 
gave  wav  completely,  and,  burying  Lis  face 
in  Lis  Lamls,  Lc  sobbed  aloud. 

Then  followed  a  long,  long  silence. 

At  last  Jack  roused  himself. 

"  You  see,  Macrorie,"'  ho  continued,  "  I 
had  been  acting  like  the  devil  to  her.  All 
Ler  chaflT,  and  nonsense,  and  laughter,  had 
been  u  mask.  Oh,  Louie  !  She  had  grown 
fond  of  me — poor  miserable  devil  that  I  am 
— and  this  is  the  end  of  it  all ! 

"  .^he  got  away,"  said  Jack,  after  another 
long  silence — "  she  got  awSiy  somehow ; 
and,  after  she  had  gone,  I  sat  for  a  while, 
feeling  like  a  man  who  has  died  and  got 
into  another  world.  Paralyzed,  bewildered 
— take  any  word  you  like,  and  it  will  not 
express  what  I  was.  I  got  off  somehow — 
I  don't  know  how — and  here  I  am.  I 
haven't  seen  her  since. 

"  I  got  away,"  he  continued,  throwing 
back  his  head,  and  looking  vacantly  at  the 
ceiling — "  I  got  away,  and  came  here,  and 
the  next  day  I  got  a  letter  about  my  uncle's 
death  ami  my  legacy.  I  had  no  sorrow  for 
my  poor  dear  old  uncle,  and  no  joy  over 
my  fortune.  I  had  no  thought  for  any 
thing  but  Louie.  Seven  thousand  a  year, 
or  ton  thousand,  or  a  hundred  thousand, 
whatever  it  might  be,  it  amounts  to  noth- 
ing. AVhat  I  have  gained  is  nothing  to 
what  I  have  lost.  I'd  give  it  all  for  Louie. 
I'd  give  it  all  to  undo  what  has  been  done. 
I'd  give  it  all,  by  Heaven,  for  one  more 


sight  of  her  !  But  that  sight  of  her  I  can 
never  h;.ve.  I  dare  not  go  near  the  house. 
I  am  afraid  to  hear  al)out  her.  My  hgaey ! 
I  wish  it  were  at  the  bottom  of  the  Allan- 
tie.  What  is  it  all  to  me,  if  I  have  to  give 
up  Louie  forever?    Ami  that's  what  ii  is  !  " 

There  was  no  exaggeration  in  all  this. 
That  was  evident.  Jack's  misery  was  real, 
and  was  manifest  in  his  pale  face  and  gen- 
eral change  of  manner.  This  -aeeounted 
for  it  all.  This  was  the  blow  that  Lad 
struck  liim  down.  All  Lis  other  troubles 
had  been  laughable  compared  with  this. 
But  from  this  he  eould  not  rally.  Nor,  for 
my  part,  did  I  know  of  any  consolation 
that  eould  be  offered.  Now,  for  the  first 
time,  I  saw  the  true  nature  of  his  senti- 
ments toward  Louie,  and  learned  from  him 
the  sentiments  of  that  jioor  little  thing 
toward  hira.  It  was  the  old  story.  They 
had  been  altogether  too  much  with  one  an- 
other. They  had  been  great  friends,  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing.  Louie  had  teased 
and  given  good  adviee.  Jack  had  sought 
consolation  for  all  Lis  troubles.  And  now 
— lo  and  boLold  ! — in  one  moment  each 
Lad  made  the  awful  discovery  that  their 
supposed  friendship  was  something  far 
more  tender  and  far-reaching. 

"  I'll  never  see  her  again  !  "  sighed  Jack. 

"  Who  ?  "  said  I.     "  The  widow  V  " 

"  The  widow  ! "  exclaimed  Jack,  contemp- 
tuously  ;  "  no — poor  little  Louie  ! "' 

"  But  you'll  see  the  widow  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Jack,  dryly.  ''  I'll  have 
to  be  there." 

"  Why  not  kick  it  all  up,  and  go  home  on 
leave  of  absence  ?  " 

Jack  shook  his  head  despairingly. 

"  No  chance,"  he  muttered  —  "  not  a 
ghost  of  a  one.  Jfy  sentence  is  pro- 
nounced ;  I  must  go  to  execution.  It'.s 
my  own  doing,  too.  I've  given  my  own 
word." 


I'll  have 


ionic  on 


"  not    a 
is    pro- 


;. 


A  FRIEND'S  APOLOGY  FOR  A  FEIEND. 


131 


"  Next  Tticsdny  ? " 

"  Xi'Xt  Tiicsdiiy." 

"  Whore  ?  " 

"  St.  Malaehi's." 

"  Oil,  it  will  1)0  at  church,  then  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  Who's  the  parson  ?  " 

"  Oh,  (iM  Fletcher." 

"  At  what  time  ?  " 

"  Twelve  ;  and  sec  here,  Macrorio,  you'll 
Btanfl  by  a  fellow — of  course — won't  you  ? 
FCC  nic  off — you  know — adjust  the  noo.'se, 
watch  til,  drop  fall — and  see  poor  Jack 
Randolph  launched  into — matrimony ! " 

"  Oh,  of  cour.se." 

Silence  followed,  and  soon  I  took  my 
departure,  leaving  Jack  to  his  meditations 
and  his  despair, 

CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

A    FRIE.ND's     apology     FOn     A     FRIEND. — JACK 
DOW.S    AT    THE     BOTTOM    OP    A     DEEP   AllVSS 

OF  WOE. — HIS    PESPAiu. — Tiij:   noun   and 

THE  MAN  ! — WllEKE  IS  THE  WOMAN  ! — A 
SACr.ED  .SPOT. — OLD  FLETCHER. — THE  TOLL 
OF  THE  BELL. — MEDITATIONS  ON  EACH  SUC- 
CESSIVE STROKE. — A  WILD  SEARCH. — THE 
PRETTV  SERVANT-MAID,  AND  HER  PRETTT 
STORY. — THROWING  GOLD  ADOCT. 

Jack's  strange  revelation  cccited  my 
deepest  sympathy,  but  I  did  not  see  how 
it  was  pos.^iblc  for  him  to  get  rid  of  his 
difficulty.  One  way  was  certainly  possible. 
lie  could  easily  get  leave  of  absence  and 
go  home,  for  the  sake  of  attending  to  his 
estates.  Once  in  England,  ho  could  sell 
out,  and  retire  from  the  army  altogether, 
or  exchange  into  another  regiment.  This 
was  certainly  possiljle  physically ;  but  to 
Jack  it  was  morally  impossible. 

Xow,  Jack  has  appeared  in  this  story 
in  very  awkward  circumstances,  engaging 


himself  right  and  left  to  every  young  lady 
that  ho  fancied,  with  a  fatal  thoughtlesa- 
nc.-*s,  that  cannot  be  too  strongly  repre- 
hended. Such  very  diffusive  affection 
might  argue  a  lack  of  principle.  Yet, 
after  all,  Jack  was  a  man  with  a  high 
sense  of  honor.  The  only  difficulty  was 
this,  that  he  was  too  susceptible.  All 
susceptible  men  can  easily  understand 
such  a  character.  I'm  an  awfully  suscep- 
tible man  myself,  as  I  have  already  had 
the  honor  of  announcing,  and  am,  more- 
over, a  man  of  honor — consc(iuently  I  feci 
strongly  for  Jack,  and  always  did  feel 
strongly  for  him. 

(iivcn,  then,  a  man  of  very  great  suscep- 
tibility, and  a  very  high  sense  of  honor,  and 
what  would  he  do  ? 

Why,  in  the  first  place,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  his  too  susceptible  heart  would  in- 
volve him  in  many  tendernesses ;  and,  if 
he  was  as  reckless  and  thoughtless  as  Jack, 
he  would  be  drawn  into  inconvenient  en- 
tanglements ;  and,  perhaps,  like  Jack,  be- 
fore he  knew  what  he  was  about,  he  might 
find  himself  engaged  to  three  different 
ladies,  and  in  love  with  a  fourth. 

In  the  second  place,  his  high  sense  of 
honor  would  make  him  eager  to  do  his  duty 
by  them  all.  Of  course,  this  would  be  im- 
possible. Yet  Jack  had  done  his  best.  lie 
had  ofTored  ininndiate  maniiigo  to  Miss 
Phillips,  and  had  proposed  an  elopement  to 
Number  Three.  This  shows  that  his  im- 
pulses led  him  to  blind  acts  which  tended 
in  a  vague  way  to  do  justice  to  the  particu- 
lar lady  who  happened  for  the  time  being 
to  bo  in  his  mind. 

And  so  Jack  had  gone  blundering  on  un- 
til at  last  he  found  himself  at  the  mercy  of 
the  widow.  The  others  had  given  \v•.^  up 
in  scorn.  She  would  not  give  him  up.  lie 
was  bound  fast,  lie  felt  the  bond.  In  the 
midst  of  this  his  susceptibility  drove  him 


nf 


m 


1 


:(;     I 


i;. 


11. 


T'l] 


132 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


on  further,  ninl,  instead  of  trjiiig  to  get  out 
of  his  diirieulties,  he  had  madly  thrust  him- 
slII'  furthiT  into  tiiciu. 

And  tlieic  lie  was — doomed — looking  for- 
ward to  the  fateful  Tuesday. 

He  felt  the  full  terror  of  his  doom,  but 
(lid  not  think  of  tryiii(;  to  evade  it.  He 
WHS  bound.  His  word  was  given.  He  eon- 
sidered  it  irrevoeable.  Flight  ?  He  thought 
no  more  of  that  than  he  thought  of  com- 
mitting a  murder.  He  would  actually  have 
given  all  that  he  had,  and  more  too,  for  the 
sake  of  getting  rid  of  tlic  widow ;  but  he 
would  not  be  what  ho  considered  a  sneak, 
evtu  for  that. 

There  was,  therefore,  no  help  for  it.  He 
was  doomed.  Tuesday !  June  20th !  St. 
.Malachi's  !  Old  Fletcher  !  Launched  into 
matrimony  !     Henee  his  der^pair. 

During  the  intervening  days'  I  did  not 
sec  him.  I  did  not  visit  him,  and  he  did 
not  come  near  me.  5Iueh  as  I  .sympathized 
with  him  in  his  woes,  I  knew  that  I  could 
do  nothing  and  say  nothing.  Besides,  I  had 
my  own  troubles.  Every  time  I  went  to 
O'Halloran's,  Marion's  shyness,  and  reserve, 
and  timidity,  grew  more  marked.  Every 
time  that  I  came  home,  I  kept  bothering 
myself  as  to  the  possible  cause  of  all  this, 
and  tormented  myself  as  to  the  reason  of 
such  a  change  in  her. 

One  day  I  called  at  the  Bertons'.  I 
didn't  see  Louie.  I  asked  after  her,  and 
they  told  me  she  was  not  well.  I  hoped  it 
was  nothing  serious,  and  felt  relieved  at 
learning  that  it  was  nothing  but  a  "  slight 
cold."  I  understood  that.  Poor  Louie  ! 
Poor  Jack  !  Would  that  "  slight  cold " 
grow  worse,  or  would  she  get  over  it  in 
time  V  She  did  not  seem  to  be  of  a  mnr. 
bid,  moping  nature.  There  was  every  rea- 
son to  hope  that  such  a  one  as  she  was 
would  surmount  it.  And  yet  it  was  hard  to 
say.    It  is  often  these  very  natures — buoy- 


ant, robust,  healthy,  straightforward — which 
feel  the  most.  They  are  not  impressible. 
They  arc  not  touched  by  every  new  emo- 
tion. And  so  it  sometimes  happens  that, 
when  tiiey  do  feel,  the  feeling  lasts  forever. 

Tuesday,  at  last,  camt — the  20th — the 
fated  day  ! 

At  about  eleven  o'clock  I  entered  Jack's 
room,  prepared  to  act  my  part  and  stand  by 
his  side  in  that  supreme  moment  of  fate. 

Jack  was  lying  on  the  sofa,  as  I  came 
in.  He  rose  and  pressed  my  hand  in 
silence.  I  said  nothing,  but  took  my  scat 
in  an  easy-chair.  Jack  was  arrayed  for 
the  ceremony  in  all  respects,  except  his 
coat,  instead  of  which  gariiient  he  wore  a 
dressing-gown.  He  was  smoking  vigorous- 
l_v.  His  face  was  very  pale,  and,  from  time 
to  time,  a  heavy  sigh  escaped  him. 

I  was  very  forcibly  striick  by  the  strong 
resemblance  which  there  was  between  Jack, 
on  the  present  occasion,  and  a  condemned 
prisoner  before  his  execution.  So  strong 
was  this,  that,  somehow,  as  I  sat  there  in 
silence,  a  vague  idea  came  into  my  head 
that  Jack  was  actually  going  to  be  hanged ; 
and,  before  I  knew  where  my  thoughts  were 
leading  me,  I  began  to  think,  in  a  misty 
way,  of  the  propriety  of  calling  in  a  clergy- 
ra.in  to  administer  ghostly  consolation  to 
the  poor  condemned  in  his  last  moments. 
It  was  only  with  an  effort  that  I  was  al)lc 
to  get  rid  of  this  idea,  and  come  back  from 
this  foolish,  yet  not  unnatural  fancy,  to  the 
reality  of  the  present  situation.  There  was 
every  reason,  indeed,  for  such  a  momentary 
misconception.  The  sadness,  the  silence, 
the  gloom,  all  suggested  some  prison  cell ; 
and  Jack,  prostrate,  stricken,  miserable, 
m'lte,  nvA  despairing,  could  not  fail  to  sug- 
gest the  dopmed  victim. 

After  a  time  Jack  rose,  and,  going  to 
the  sideboard,  offered  me  something  to 
drink.    I  declined.    'WLcreupon  he  poured 


^'' 


\1 


A  FRIEND'S  ArOLOGY  FOR  A  FRIEND. 


133 


out  a  tumblerful  of  raw  brandj-  and  hay'il;- 
swatlowcd  it.  As  he  had  done  that  very 
same  tiling'  before,  I  bepin  to  think  that  he 
was  goinj;  a  little  too  far. 

"  See  here,  old  boy,"  said  I,  "  arn't  you 
a  little  reckless  ?  That  sort  of  thing  isn't 
exaetly  the  best  kind  of  preparation  for  the 
event — is  it?" 

"  What  ?— this  ?  "  said  Jack,  holding  up 
the  empty  tumbler,  with  a  gloomy  glance 
toward  me;  "oh,  its  nothinir.  I've  been 
dri'iK'hing  myself  with  brandy  this  last 
week.  It's  the  only  thing  I  can  do.  The 
worst  of  it  is,  it  don't  Lave  much  effect 
now.  I  have  to  drink  too  much  of  it 
before  I  can  bring  myself  into  a  proper 
state  of  calm." 

"Calm!"  said  I,  "calm!  I  tell  you 
what  it  is,  old  chap,  you'll  find  it'll  be 
any  thing  but  calm.  You'll  have  delirium 
tremens  before  the  week'a  out,  at  this 
rate." 

"  Delirium  tremens  ?  "  said  Jack,  with  a 
faint,  cynical  laugh.  "  No  go,  my  boy — too 
late.  Not  time  now.  If  it  had  only  come 
yesterday,  I  might  have  had  a  reprieve. 
But  it  didn't  come.  And  so  I  have  only 
a  tremendous  headache.  I've  less  than  an 
hour,  and  can't  get  it  \<n  in  that  time. 
Lot  me  have  my  swing,  old  man.  I'd  do 
as  much  for  you." 

And,  saying  this,  he  drank  off  a  half  tum- 
bler more. 

"  There,"  said  he,  going  back  to  the  sofa. 
"  That's  better.  I  feel  more  able  to  go 
through  with  it.  It  takes  a  good  lot  now, 
though,  to  get  a  fellow's  courage  up." 

After  this,  Jack  again  relapsed  Into 
silence,  which  I  ventured  to  interrupt  with 
a  few  questions  as  to  the  nature  of  the 
coming  ceremony.  Jack's  answers  were 
short,  reluctant,  and  dragged  from  him 
piecemeal.  It  was  a  thing  which  he  bad 
to  face  in  a  very  short  time,  and  any  other 


subject  was  preferable  as  a  thcmo  for  ecu- 
versation. 

"  Will  there  be  much  of  a  crowd  ? " 

"  Oh,  no." 

"  You  didn't  invite  any." 

"  Me  ?  invite  any  ?  Good  Lord  !  I 
should  think  not !  " 

"  I'erhaps  she  has  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  ;  she  said  she  wouldn't" 

"  Well,  I  dare  «ay  the  town,  by  this  time, 
has  got  wind  of  it,  and  the  church'U  be 
full." 

"  No,  I  think  not,"  said  Jack,  with  a 
sigh. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know ;  it's  not  a  common 
affair." 

"  Well,  she  told  mc  she  had  kept  it  a 
secret — and  you  and  Louie  are  the  only 
ones  I've  told  it  to — so,  unles.'j  you  have 
told  about  it.  no  one  knows." 

"  I  haven't  told  a  soul." 

"  Then  I  don't  see  how  anybody  can 
know,  unless  old  Fletcher  has  proclaimed 
it." 

"  Not  he ;  he  wouldn't  take  the  trouble." 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  Jack,  morosely, 
"  how  many  are  there,  or  how  few.  Crowd 
or  no  crowd,  it  makes  sm.ill  difference  to 
me,  by  Jove ! " 

"  Look  here,  old  fellow,"  said  I,  sudden- 
ly, after  some  further  conversation,  "if 
you're  going,  you'd  better  start.  It's  a 
quarter  to  twelve  now." 

Jack  gave  a  groan  and  rose  from  his  sofa, 
lie  went  into  his  dressing-room  and  soon  re- 
turned, in  his  festive  array,  with  a  face  of 
despair  that  was  singularly  at  variance  with 
his  costume.  Before  starting,  "\  spite  of 
my  remonstrances,  he  swallowed  another 
draught  of  br.andy.  I  began  to  doubt 
whether  he  would  be  able  to  stand  up  at 
the  ceremony. 

St.  Malachi's  was  not  far  away,  and  a 
few  minutes'  drive  brought  us  there. 


s 


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134 


Tin:  i.ADY  or  tiik  ice. 


ii  I  I 


;  ■     I 


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The  c'liiircl;  wns  ((uilc  iiiipty.  A  lew 
^itrap^'li'i's,  uiikiiiiwii  to  IH,  liad  taken  scat^ 
in  till'  IVdiit  pcwH.  (iltl  Flt'ti'luT  w\-n  ill 
tlio  I'haiR'i'l.  We  waikcil  up  ami  siiodk 
Lands  Hiih  liun.  He  (^icH'ted  tiai'k  wiili 
nil  nfri'ctiiiiiiUo  curiicstnci^d  of  cun};ratiila- 
tion,  Mliicli,  I  waH  Hdi-ry  to  hcc,  wa.s  not 
propiily  rt'Xjiondi'd  to. 

After  n  few  words,  we  nil  sat  down  in  tlio 
choir. 

It  wanted  about  tivc  minutes  of  tlic  time. 

The  widow  was  txiieetid  every  iiioinciit. 

Old  Fletcher  now  subsided  into  digniliid 
sili'iK'C.  1  (IdKeted  about,  and  looked  at 
my  wateli  every  half-niiiiute.  At*  for  ,Jaek, 
be  l)urieil  bis  face  in  bis  hands  und  Hat 
motionless. 

Thus  four  minutes  pai-scd. 

No  signs  of  the  widow. 

()ne  minute  si  ill  reiiiainid. 

The  tunc  was  very  long. 

I  took  out  my  watch  a  half-dozen  tinic.^, 
to  hasten  its  progress.  I  shook  it  impa- 
tiently to  make  it  go  faster.  The  great 
empty  church  looked  coM  and  lonely.  The 
little  group  of  spectators  only  added  to  the 
loneliness  of  the  scene.  An  oeea-'ional 
cough  resounded  harshly  amid  the  univer- 
sal stillness.  The  sibilant  sounds  of  whis- 
pers struck  sharply  and  unplcasuntly  upon 
the  ear. 

At  last  the  minute  passed. 

I  began  to  think  my  watch  was  wrong ; 
but  no^for  suddenly,  from  the  great  bell 
above,  in  the  church-tower,  there  tolled  out 
the  first  stroke  of  the  hour.  And  between 
each  stroke  there  seemed  a  long,  long  in- 
terval, in  which  the  mind  had  leisure  to 
turn  over  and  over  nil  the  peculiarities  of 
this  situation. 

One  !  I  counted. 

[Xo  widow.  What's  up?  Did  anyone 
ever  hear  of  a  bride  missing  the  hour,  or 
delaying  in  this  way?] 


Two! 

[What  a  humbug  of  a  woman  !  Flic  has 
eultiviilcd  prociasiination  nil  her  life,  and 
this  is  the  renult.J 

Tniii:;;: 

[Not  yet.  Tcrlinps  she  wants  to  make 
a  scii'sation.  She  nntieipatcs  a  crowded 
cliiireh,  and  will  make  un  entrance  in 
stale.) 

I'd  III! 

[liiit  no  ;  she  did  not  invite  anybody,  and 
had  no  reason  to  suppose  that  any  one 
woiilil  be  here.) 

Fivk! 

[Xo,  it  could  not  bo  vanity;  but,  if  not, 
what  can  be  the  possible  cause  ':\ 

Six! 

[(-"an  it  be  timidity,  basht'ulnc?s,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing';'  Uosli !  The  widow 
riiiniinore  is  not  a  blushing,  timid  maiden.] 

SUVKN  ! 

[rerlia|)8  her  watch  is  out  of  the  way. 
Hut,  then,  on  one's  marriage-day,  would  not 
one  see,  lirst  of  all,  that  one's  watch  was 
right?] 

KidiiT ! 

[I'eiliiips  something  is  tlio  matter  with 
her  bridal  array.  The  dress  might  not  Iiavc 
arrived  in  time.  She  may  be  waiting  for 
her  feathers.] 

Nink! 

[Xot  yet !  Perhaps  she  is  expecting 
Jack  to  go  to  her  house  and  necompany 
her  here.  It  is  very  natural  Jack  may 
have  agreed  to  do  so,  and  then  forgottc.i 
all  about  it.] 

Ten! 

[Perhaps  there  has  been  some  misunder- 
standing about  the  hour,  and  the  widow  is 
not  cxi)ecting  to  come  till  two.] 

Eleven  ! 

[Perhaps  she  is  ill.  Sudden  attack  of 
vertigo,  acute  ihcumatisin,  and  brain-fever, 
consequent   ujiou   the  excitement  of  the 


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A  FRIEND'S  APOLOGY  FOIt  A  FRIEND. 


135 


occasion.  The  widow  prostrated !  Jack 
saved  !] 

TWELVE ! ! ! 

The  last  toll  of  the  boll  rolled  out  slowly 
and  solemnly,  and  its  deep  tones  came  along 
the  lofty  church,  and  died  away  in  long  re- 
verberations down  the  aisles  and  along  the 
galleries.  Twelve !  The  hour  had  come, 
and  with  the  hour  the  man  ;  liut  wliere 
was  the  woman  ? 

Thus  far  Jack  had  been  holding  his  face 
in  his  hands ;  but,  as  the  last  tones  of  the 
bell  died  away,  he  raised  himself  and  looked 
around  with  some  wildncss  in  his  face. 

"  By  Jove  ! "  said  he. 

«'  What  ? " 

"  The  widow  ! " 

"  She's  not  here,"  said  I. 

"  By  Jove  I  Only  think  of  it.  A  widow, 
and  too  late  !  By  Jove !  I  can't  grapple 
with  the  idea,  you  know." 

After  this  we  relapsed  into  silence,  and 
waited. 

The  people  in  the  pews  whimpered  more 
vigorously,  and  every  little  while  looked 
anxiously  around  to  see  if  the  bridal  party 
was  approaching.  Old  Fletcher  closed  his 
eyes,  folded  his  arms,  and  appeared  either 
buried  in  thought  or  in  sleep — probably  a 
little  of  both.  Jack  sat  stolidly  with  his 
legs  crossed,  and  his  hands  hugging  his 
knee,  looking  straight  before  him  at  the 
opi)ositc  ?ide  of  the  chaneel,  and  appar- 
ently reading  most  diligently  the  Ten  Com- 
mandments, the  Creed,  and  the  Lord's 
Prayer,  which  were  on  the  wail  there.  I 
was  in  a  general  state  of  mild  but  ever- 
increasing  surprise,  and  endeavored  to  find 
some  conceivable  reason  for  such  very  curi- 
ous procrastination. 

So  the  time  passed,  and  none  of  us  said 
any  thing,  and  the  little  company  of  spec- 
tators grow  fidgety,  and  Jack  still  stared, 
and  I  still  wondered. 


At  last  old  J'leteher  turned  to  Jack. 

"  You  said  twelve,  I  think,  sir,"  siud  he, 
mildly  and  benevolently. 

"Twelve  — did  I?  Well  — of  course; 
why  not  ?    Twelve,  of  course." 

"  The  lady  is  rather  behind  the  time,  I 
think — isn't  she  ?  "  said  the  reverend  gen- 
tleman, with  mild  suggestivcncss. 

"  Rehi'id  the  time  ?  "  said  Jack,  fumbling 
at  his  watch ;  "  why,  so  she  is ;  why,  it's 
twenty  minutes  to  one.     By  Jove  ! " 

"  Perhaps  you  mistook  the  hour,"  hinted 
the  clergyman. 

"  Mistook  it  ?  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  cried 
Jack,  who  looked  puzzled  and  bewildered. 
"  The  hour  ?  I'm  as  confident  it  was 
twelve  as  I'm  confident  of  my  existence. 
Not  a  bit  of  doubt  about  that." 

"  Perhaps  something's  happened,"  said 
I ;  "  hadn't  I  better  drive  round  to  the 
liouse,  Jack  ?  " 

"  Yes;  not  a  bad  idea,"  said  Jack.  "  I'll 
go  too.  I  can't  stand  it  any  longer.  I've 
read  the  ten  commandments  through  seven- 
ty-nine times,  and  was  trying  to  work  up  to 
a  hundred,  when  you  interrupted  me.  Do 
you  know,  old  chap — I  feel  out  of  sorts ; 
that  brandy's  got  to  my  head — I'd  like  a 
little  fresh  air.  Besiues,  I  can't  stand  this 
waiting  any  longer.  If  it's  got  to  be — 
why,  the  sooner  the  better.  Have  it  out 
— and  be  done  with  it,  I  say.  A  fellow 
don't  want  to  stand  all  day  on  the  scall'oM 
waiting  for  the  confounded  hangman — does 
he  ?  " 

Jack  spoke  wildly,  cynically,  and  despe- 
rately. Old  Fletcher  listened  to  these 
words  with  a  face  so  full  of  astonishment 
am.  .lOrror,  that  it  has  haunted  me  ever 
since.  And  so  we  turned  away,  am]  we  left 
that  stricken  old  man  looking  after  us  in 
amazement  and  horror  too  deep  for  words. 

Jack's  spirits  had  flushed  up  for  a  mo- 
ment into  a  fitful  light ;  but  the  next  mo 


'. ;'  f 


• 

1 

-1 

'   ''' 

}\ 


136 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


m 


mcnt  tlicy  sank  njrai)!  into  },'l()oin.  We 
walked  slowly  down  the  aisle,  niid,  as  we 
passed  down,  the  npectators,  seeing  us  go 
out,  rose  from  their  seats  with  the  evident 
conviction  that  the  all'air  was  postponed, 
and  the  determination  to  follow.  Jaek's 
carriage  was  at  the  door,  and  wc  drove  oil'. 

"  Macrorie,  my  boy,"  said  Jack. 

"  What »  " 

"  You  didn't  bring  your  flask,  I  sup- 
pose," said  lack,  gloomily. 

"  Xo,"  said  I ;  "  and  it's  well  I  didn't, 
for  I  think  you've  done  enough  of  that 
sort  of  thing  to-day." 

"  To-day  V  This  is  the  day  of  all  days 
when  I  ought.  How  else  can  I  keep  up  ? 
I  must  stupefy  myself,  that's  all.  Y'ou 
don't  know,  old  boy,  how  near  I  am  to  do- 
ing something  desperate." 

"  Come,  Jack,  don't  knock  under  that 
way.  Confound  it,  I  thought  you  had  more 
spirit." 

*'  Why  the  deuce  does  she  drive  mc  mad 
with  her  delay  ?  "  cried  Jack,  a  few  minutes 
after.  "  Why  doesn't  she  conic  ami  be  done 
with  it  ?  Am  I  to  sjioud  the  whole  day 
waiting  for  her  ?  Hy  Jove,  I've  a  great 
mind  to  go  liome,  and,  if  she  wants  mc,  she 
may  come  for  mc." 

"  Do,"  said  I,  eagerly.  "  She's  missed 
the  appointment ;  why  should  you  care  1 " 

"  I'ooh  !  a  fellow  can't  act  in  that  sort 
of  way.  No,  Have  it  out.  I've  acted 
badly  enough,  in  a  general  way,  but  I  won't 
go  deliberately  and  do  a  mean  thing.  I 
dare  say  this  sort  of  thing  will  wear  off  in 
the  long  nin.  We'll  go  to  England  next 
week.  We'll  start  for  New  York  to-night, 
and  never  come  back.  I  intend  to  try  to 
pet  into  the  l"8th  regiment.  It's  out  in 
Honibay,  I  believe.  Yes.  I've  made  up 
my  minil  to  that.  It's  the  only  thing  to 
be  done.  Yes — it's  the  best  thing— far  the 
best  for  both  of  us." 


"Doth  of  you!" 

"  Doth,  yes  ;  of  course." 

"  What,  you  and  the  widow  ?  " 

"  The  widow  ?  Confound  the  widow  ! 
Who's  talking  of  her  ?  " 

"  I  thought  you  were  talking  of  her. 
You  said  you  were  going  to  take  her  to 
England." 

"  The  widow  ?  No,''  cried  Jack,  peer- 
i.slily ;  "  I  meant  Louie,  of  course.  Who 
else  could  I  mean  ?  Louie.  I  said  it 
would  be  far  better  for  me  and  Louie  if  I 
went  to  Ilombay," 

And  with  these  words  ho  flung  himself 
impatiently  back  in  the  carriage  aud  scowled 
ot  vacancy. 

And  this  was  Jack.  This  was  my  broad- 
browed,  frank-faced,  golden-haired,  bright, 
smiling,  incoherent,  incimsistent,  inconse- 
quential, light-hearted,  hilarious  Jack — the 
Jack  who  was  once  the  joy  of  every  com- 
pany, rollicking,  reckless,  and  without  a 
care.  To  this  complexion  had  he  come  at 
last.  Oil,  what  0  moral  ruin  was  here,  my 
countrymen  '.  Where  now  were  his  jests 
and  gibes — his  wit,  that  was  wont  to  set 
the  table  in  a  roar  '?  Alas  I  poor  Yorick ! 
Amour.'  umnnr  /  quaml  tu  nous  lieiiB,  ifho 
can  tell  what  the  misehitf  will  become  of 
us !  Once  it  was  "  not  wisely  but  too 
many" — now  it  was  "  not  wisely  but  too 
well" — and  this  was  the  end  of  it.  O 
Louie!  O  Jack  !  Is  there  no  such  thing 
as  true  I'latonie  love  on  earth  ? 

Hut  there  was  not  much  time  for  Jack 
to  scowl  or  for  me  to  me<litate.  The  wid- 
ow did  not  live  very  far  away,  and  a  (piartcr 
of  an  hour  was  enough  to  bring  us  there. 

It  was  a  handsome  liouse.  I  knew  it 
well.  Jack  know  it  better.  Hut  it  looked 
dark  now,  and  rather  gloomy.  The  shutters 
were  clo'cd.  and  there  was  no  sign  of  life 
wlnitcver. 

Jack  stared  at  the  house  fur  a  moment, 


A  FEIEND'S  APOLOGY  FOR  A  FRIEND. 


137 


nnd  tlicn  jumped  out.  I  followcil.  Wc 
liurricd  up  tlio  step?,  and  Jack  gave  a  Oorce 
pull  at  the  bell,  followed  by  a  sccoud  and  a 
third. 

At  the  third  pull  the  door  opened  and  di:- 
closod  a  uiaid-.'*ervant. 

"  Mrs.  Finniinore  ?  "  said  Jack,  as  lie 
stepped  into  the  hall — and  then  stopped. 

The  servant  seemed  surprised. 

"  Mrs.  Finnimore  ?  "  said  she. 

"  Yes,"  said  Jack.     "  Is  she  here  ?  " 

"  Here « " 

"  Yes." 

"  Wiy,  sir — she's  gone — " 

"Gone!"  cried  Jack.  "Gone!  Im- 
possible !  Why  we  drove  straight  here 
from  St.  Malaehi's,  and  didn't  meet  her. 
■Which  street  did  she  go?" 

"  Which  street,  sir  ?  .'^t.  Malaehi's,  sir?  " 
repeated  the  servant,  in  bewilderment. 

"  Yes — which  way  did  she  go  ?  " 

"Why,  sir — she  went  to  Montreal,"  said 
the  servant — "  to  Montreal,  you  know,  sir," 
she  repeated,  in  a  mincing  tone,  bridling 
and  blushing  at  the  same  time. 

"  To— where  «  what  ?  "  cried  Jack,  thun- 
derstruck— ".Montreal!  Montreal!  What 
the  devil  is  the  meaning  of  all  that?" 
And  Jack  fairly  gasped,  and  looked  at  me 
in  utter  bewilderment.  And  I  looked  back 
at  him  with  emotions  ciiual  to  his  own. 
And  we  both  stood,  to  se  au  expressive 
but  not  by  any  means  classical  word — dam- 
founded. 

[Had  a  thunder-bolt  burst — and  all  that 
sort  of  thing,  you  know,  my  boy.] 

Jack  was  quite  unable  to  utter  another 
word.     So  I  came  to  his  help. 

"  I  think  you  said  your  mistress  went  to 
Montreal  *  "  said  I,  mildly  and  encouraging- 
ly, for  the  servant  began  to  look  frightened. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  tell  me 
vrhat  she  went  there  for  ?    I  wouldn't  ask 


you,  but  it's  a  matter  of  some  impor- 
tance." 

"  What  for,  sir  ?  "  said  the  servant — and 
a  very  pretty  blush  came  over  her  rather 
pretty  face.  "  What  for,  sir?  Why,  sir — 
you  know,  sir — she  went  off,  sir — on  her — 
her — wedding-tower,  sir." 

"  Iler  WHAT  ! ! !  "  cried  Jack,  wildly. 

"  Iler  wedding-tower,  sir,"  repeated  the 
servant,  in  a  faint  voice. 

"  Iler  wedding-tour ! "  cried  Jack.  "  Iler 
wetlding-tour !  Do  you  mean  what  you 
say?  Is  this  a  joke?  Wliat  tli>  you 
mean  ?  " 

At  this,  which  was  spoken  most  vehe- 
mently by  Jack,  who  was  now  in  a  state  of 
frightful  excitement,  the  servant  turned 
pale  and  started  back  iu  fear — so  I  inter- 
posed. 

"  Don't  be  at  all  alarmed,"  I  said,  kindly. 
"  Wc  merely  want  to  know,  you  know,  what 
you  mean  by  saying  it  was  a  wedding-tour. 
What  wedding  ?  We  want  to  know,  you 
know." 

"Wedding,  sir?  Lor",  sir!  Yes,  sir. 
This  morning,  sir.  She  was  married,  you 
know,  sir." 

"Makhied!"  cried  Jack,  in  a  strange, 
wild  voice. 

"  This  morning  ! "   I  exclaimed. 

"  Lor',  sir !  Yes,  sir,"  continued  the 
maid,  who  was  still  a  little  frightened  at 
the  presence  of  such  excited  visitors. 
"This  morning,  sir.  Karly,  sir.  Six 
o'clock,  sir.  And  they  took  the  seven 
o'clock  train,  sir — for  Montreal,  you  know, 
sir — and  they  talked  of  N'cw  York,  sir." 

"  77<.v/  talked  ?  T/inj  f  ]\'hof  Jfar- 
ritii .'  Wlto  married  her?  The  widow! 
Mrs.  Finnimore !  Married!  Nonsense!  And 
gone!  What  do  you  mean?  Wlio  was 
it?" 

The  maid  started  back  in  fresh  fear  at 
Jack's    terrible    ogitation.      Terrible?      I 


rrr 


it 


j.^i 


■I  " 


138 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


Bhoiild  rather  t'link  so.  Imagine  a  crimi- 
nal with  the  noose  alioiit  his  neck  hearing 
a  whisper  goin;;  about  that  n  pardon  had 
arrived.  Agitation  V  I  sliouhl  say  that 
there  was  occasion  for  it.  Still,  1  didn't 
like  to  sec  that  jirctty  servant-maid  fright- 
ened out  of  her  wit.'?.  So  I  interposed  once 
more, 

"  Wc  merely  want  to  know,"  said  I, 
mildly,  "  who  the  gentleman  was  to  whom 
your  mistress  was  married  this  morning, 
and  with  whom  she  went  to  Montreal?  " 

"  Who,  sir  ?  Why,  sir — it  was  the  chap- 
lain, sir — of  the  Bobtails,  sir — the  Rev.  Mr. 
Trenaman." 

"  The  chaplain  !  I !  "  cried  Jack,  with  a 
strange  voice  that  was  somewhere  between 
a  shout  and  a  sob.  He  turned  to  me. 
There  was  ecstasy  on  his  face.  His  eyes 
were  all  aglow,  and  yet  I  coidd  see  in  them 
the  moisture  of  tears.  He  caught  my  hand 
in  both  of  his. 

"  (.)h,  Maerorie  !  "  he  faltered.  "  see  here, 
old  boy — it's  too  much — Louie — all  right — 
at  last — too  much,  you  know." 

An<l  the  long  and  the  short  of  it  is,  he 
nearly  wrung  my  hand  off. 

Then  he  turned  to  the  servant-maid,  and 
fumbling  in  his  pockets  drew  out  a  hand- 
ful of  sovereigns — 

"  See  here ! "  he  said,  "  you  glorious  lit- 
tle thing !  you  princess  of  servant-maids ! 
licre's  something  for  a  new  bonnet,  you 
know,  or  any  thing  else  you  fancy." 

And  he  forced  the  sovereigns  into  her 
hand. 

Then  he  wrung  my  hand  again. 

Then  he  rushed  wildly  out. 

He  flung  some  more  sovereigns  at  the  as- 
tonished coachman. 

Then  be  sprang  into  the  carriage,  and  I 
followed. 

"  Where  shall  I  drive  to,  sir  ?  "  said  the 
coachman. 


"  To  Colonel  Berton's  ! "  roared  Jack. 

"  Nonsense,  Jack  !  "  said  I ;  "  it's  too 
early." 

"  Early — the  devil !  No  it  isn't. — Drive 
on." 

And  away  went  the  carriage. 

I  prevailed  on  Jack  to  drop  me  at  the 
corner  of  one  of  the  streets,  and,  getting 
out,  I  wont  to  my  den,  meditating  on  the 
astonishing  events  of  the  day. 

The  conclusions  which  I  then  came  to 
about  Mrs.  Finnimorc,  now  Mrs.  Trenaman, 
were  verified  fully  by  discoveries  made  after- 
ward. 

She  had  been  quick-sighted  enough  to  see 
that  Jack  did  not  care  for  her,  and  had  given 
him  up.  The  chaplain  was  far  more  to  her 
taste.  As  Jack  came  again  to  her,  she 
could  not  resist  the  desire  to  pay  him  up. 
This  was  the  reason  why  she  led  him  on  to 
an  offer  of  matrimony,  and  named  the  day 
and  place.  Miss  Phillips  had  paid  him  up 
in  one  way ;  the  widow  chose  another  meth- 
od, which  was  more  in  accordance  with  her 
own  genius.  All  this  time  she  had  come 
to  a  full  understanding  with  the  chaplain, 
and  the  day  which  she  had  n.amed  to  Jack 
was  the  very  one  on  which  her  real  mar- 
riage was  to  come  olT.  I  never  could  find 
out  whether  the  chaplain  knew  about  it  or 
not.  I  rather  think  he  did  not.  If  he  had 
known,  he  would  have  dropped  a  hint  to 
Jack.  lie  was  such  a  confoundedly  good- 
hearted  sort  of  a  fellow,  that  he  would  have 
interposed  to  present  the  success  of  the 
plan.  As  it  was,  it  was  carried  out  per- 
fectly. 

After  nil,  she  wasn't  a  bad  little  thing. 
She  knew  about  Jack's  devotion  to  Louie, 
and  thought  that  her  little  plot,  while  it 
gratified  her  own  feelings,  would  not  in 
any  way  interfere  with  Jack's  happiness. 
And  it  didn't.  For,  ever  since  then.  Jack 
has  never  ceased  to  declare  that  the  widow, 


^"^w—wi^MUBT^WII^^-'-t '**"'■'"'" 


maaoi 


i:  1 


MY  OWN  AFFAIRS. 


139 


as  he  still  called  licr,  was— a  hrii'k — a 
tiunip — a  glorious  lot — and  every  other 
name  that  has  ever  been  invented  to  ex- 
press whatever  is  noble,  excellent,  or  ad- 
mirable in  human  nature. 

The  next  morning  Jack  came  bursting 
into  my  room.  One  look  at  him  was 
enough.  Jack  was  himself  again.  He 
poured  forth  a  long,  a  vehement,  and  a 
very  incoherent  account  of  his  proceed- 
ings.    I  can  only  give  the  general  facts. 

lie  had  driven  at  once  to  Colonel  IJer- 
ton's.  He  had  dashed  into  the  house  and 
asked  'or  Louie.  After  a  while  Louio  came 
down.  He  didn't  say  a  word  to  her,  but 
caught  her  in  his  arms.  She  didn't  resist. 
Perhaps  she  had  seen  in  his  face,  at  one 
glance,  that  he  was  free.  It  was  a  long 
time  before  the  absurd  fellow  could  tell  her 
what  had  happened.  At  length  he  man- 
aged to  get  it  all  out.  lie  must  have  acted 
like  a  madman,  but,  as  all  lovers  are  more 
or  less  mad,  his  behavior  may  not  have 
seemed  very  unnatural  to  Louie.  The  jjoor 
little  girl  had  been  moping  ever  since  her 
last  interview  with  Jack  ;  every  day  had 
made  it  worse  for  her;  and  Jack  assured 
nic  that,  if  he  hadn't  turned  up  at  that  par- 
ticular hour  on  that  particular  day,  she 
would  have  taken  to  her  bed,  and  never 
risen  from  it  again.  But  as  it  was  Jack's 
inveterate  habit  to  doom  to  death  all  the 
ladies  wlio  had  cherished  a  tender  passion 
in  his  behalf,  the  assertion  may  not  be  ab- 
solutely true.  Louie  might  possibly  have 
rallied  from  the  blow,  and  regained  the 
joy  and  buoyancy  of  her  old  life;  yet, 
however  that  may  be,  it  was  certainly  best 
for  her  that  things  should  have  turned  out 
just  as  they  did. 

But  I  must  now  leave  Jack,  and  get  on 
to— 


CIIAPTF-R   XXXVII 

MT  OWN  AFFAIKS. — A  DRIVE  AND  HOW  IT 
CAME  OfT.  —  VARVINO  MOODS,  —  THE  E.\- 
CITED,  TUE  GLOOMT,  AND  THE  OENTLEMANLV. 
— STRAVINO  AHOTT  MONTMORENCV. — REVIS- 
ITINQ  A  MEUOIUIII.E  .«CENE. — EFFECT  OF 
SAID  SCENE. A  MfTE  APFEAL  AND  AS  AP- 
PEAL I.V  WORDS. — RESILT  OF  THE  APPEALS. 
— "  WILL  vol-  Tl  RN  AWAY  ?  " — GRAND  RE- 
Sl'LT. — CLIMAX. — FINALE. — A  GENERAL  CS- 
DERSTANDINO  ALL  ROIND,  AND  A  INIVER- 
SAL   E.\PLANATION   OF  NUMEROUS  PCZZLES. 

All  this  was  very  well.  Of  course.  To 
a  generous  nature  like  mine,  the  happiness 
of  a  friend  could  not  fail  to  extend  itself. 
P'or  I'm  awfully  sympathetic,  you  know.  I 
don't  reineinbcr  whether  I've  made  that  re- 
mark before  or  not,  but  in  cither  case  the 
fact  remains.  Yet,  S3nipathetic  or  not, 
every  fellow  has  his  own  aflfairs,  you  know, 
and,  as  a  matter  of  course,  these  engage 
his  chief  attention.  Now  all  my  alfairs 
circled  around  one  centre,  and  that  centre 
was — Marion ! 

I  had  seen  her  on  the  previous  evening. 
I  had  made  an  engagement  with  her  and 
Nora  to  go  out  with  me  for  a  drive  on  the 
following  day,  and  we  had  arranged  all 
about  it.  We  were  to  drive  to  Montmo- 
rency Falls,  a  place  whieh  is  the  chief  at- 
traction among  the  environs  of  Quebec.  I 
had  not  been  there  since  that  memorable 
day  when  I  rode  there  with  the  doctor  to 
find  my  bird  flown. 

Accordingly  on  the  next  day,  at  the  ap- 
pointed hour,  I  drew  up  in  front  of  n'Hal- 
loran'sand  went  in.  The  ladies  were  there, 
but  N'ora  was  half-reclining  on  a  couch, 
and  seemed  rather  miserable.  She  com- 
plained of  a  severe  attack  of  neuralgia, 
and  lamented  that  she  could  not  go.     I'p 


w 

If 


140 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


■■( 


'1 


If'  I 

1.1 1    If 


on  this  I  oxpros-ii'd  my  ilcopcst  ^CJzret^',  niul 
IkiJjc'iI  that  Miiis  O'Hallnran  would  coiiu-. 
Hut  Marion  ileniurri'd,  and  caid  slio  wouldn't 
Icuvo  Xorn.  AVlicn-upon  N'oni  urged  her 
fo  go,  and  finally,  afti'V  oviik'nt  reluctance, 
Marion  allowed  lierscU'  to  be  persiuuled. 

It  was  with  an  inexpressihle  feelinj;  of 
exultation  that  I  drove  off  with  her.  At 
last  we  were  alone  together,  and  woidd  be 
HO  for  hours.  The  frii^idity  which  had 
grown  up  within  her  during  the  last  two 
months  might  possibly  be  relaxed  now  un- 
tier  the  inlluenee  of  this  closer  association. 
My  heart  beat  last.  I  talkei'  rajiidly  abciut 
every  thing.  In  my  excitenunt  I  also 
drove  rapidly  at  first,  but  finally  I  had 
pullieient  .«ensc  to  see  that  there  was  no 
nei'tl  to  shorten  so  precious  an  interview 
by  hurrying  it  through,  and  so  I  i-laekencd 
our  speed. 

As  for  Marion,  she  seemed  as  ealm  as 
I  was  agitated.  Her  demeanor  was  a  sin- 
gular one.  She  was  not  exactly  frigid  or 
repellent.  She  was  rather  shy  and  re- 
served. It  was  rather  the  constraint  of 
tiMiidity  than  of  dislike.  Pislike?  Xo. 
Not  n  bit  of  it.  Whatever  her  feelings 
might  be,  she  had  no  reason  for  dislike. 
Still  she  was  cold — and  her  coldness  began 
gradually  to  affect  nie  in  spite  of  my  exul- 
tation, and  to  change  my  joy  to  a  feeling 
of  depression. 

After  a  few  miles  tlii.s  depression  had 
increased  suflieiently  to  sober  me  down 
completely.  I  no  longer  rattled.  I  became 
grave.  A  feeling  of  despondency  came 
over  rae.  My  spirits  sank.  There  seemed 
no  sympathy  between  us — no  reciprocity  of 
felling.  She  had  no  cordiality  of  manner 
— no  word,  or  look,  or  gesture,  to  give  en- 
couragement. 

After  a  time  my  mood  changed  so  under 
the  inlluenee  of  Marion's  depressing  man- 
ner, that  I  fell  into  long  fits  of  very  ungal- 


lant  silence — silence,  too,  whicli  she  never 
attempted  to  break.  Amid  these  fits  of 
silence  I  tried  to  conjecture  the  cause  of 
her  very  great  coolness,  ond  finally  came  to 
the  very  <leeision  which  I  had  often  reached 
before.  "  Yes,"  I  thought,  "  she  has  dis- 
covered bow  I  love  her,  and  she  docs  not 
care  for  me.  She  has  gratitude,  but  she 
cannot  feel  love.  So  she  wishes  to  repcd 
me.  She  didn't  want  to  come  with  me,  and 
only  came  because  Xora  urged  her.  She 
tlid  not  like  to  refuse,  for  fear  of  seeming 
unkind  to  me.  At  the  same  time,  now  that 
she  is  with  me,  she  is  trying  to  act  in  such 
a  way  as  will  cfl'cctually  ijuell  any  \ini)leas- 
ant  demonstrations  of  mine."  Thoughts 
like  these  reduced  me  to  such  a  stale  of 
gloom  that  I  found  myself  indulging  in 
fits  of  silence  that  grew  longer  and  longer. 

At  last  I  roused  myself.  This  sort  of 
thing  would  never  do.  If  nothing  el.so 
could  inlluenee  me,  I  felt  that  I  ought  to 
obey  the  ordinary  instincts  of  a  gentleman. 
I  had  invited  her  for  a  drive,  and,  because 
she  was  constrained,  that  was  no  reason 
why  I  should  be  nide.  So  I  rallied  my 
failing  facidties,  and  endeavored  now  not 
to  secure  enjoyment  for  myself,  but  rather 
to  make  the  drive  agreeable  to  my  com- 
panion. 

This  better  mood  lasted  all  the  rest  of 
the  way,  and  the  few  miles  of  feverish  ex- 
citement, which  were  followed  by  the  few 
miles  of  stdlenncss,  were  finally  succeeded 
by  the  ordinary  cheerfulness  of  a  travelling 
companion.  The  change  was  very  much 
for  the  better.  My  feverish  excitement 
had  served  to  increase  the  constraint  of 
Marion ;  and  now,  since  it  had  passed 
away,  she  seemed  more  inclined  to  be 
agreeable.  There  were  many  things  to 
attract  and  interest  those  who  travelled 
merely  for  the  pleasure  of  the  thing,  with- 
out any  ulterior  motives.     The  long  French 


\ 


MY  OWN  AFFAIRS. 


141 


villages,  the  huge  chapels,  the  fivtiucnt 
crosses  by  the  way-side,  the  smooth,  level 
road,  the  eultivaled  fields,  the  overshad- 
owing trees,  the  rich  luxuriance  of  the  vege- 
tation, the  radiant  beauty  of  the  seeno  all 
around,  which  was  now  clothed  in  the 
richest  verdure  of  June,  the  h<ihiUtuU  along 
the  road — all  these  and  a  thousand  other 
things  Butliced  to  cxcito  attention  and 
elicit  remarks.  While  I  was  impassioned, 
or  eager,  or  vehement,  Marion  had  held 
aloof;  but  now,  while  I  was  merely  com- 
monplace and  conventional,  she  showed 
herself  sufficiently  companionable.  And 
60  our  drive  went  on,  and  at  last  we 
reached  our  destination. 

If  I  were  inclined  to  bore  the  reader,  I 
might  go  into  raptures  over  this  scene — 
whore  the  river,  winding  on  amid  wooded 
banks,  ami  over  rocky  ledges,  finally  tum- 
bles over  a  lofty  precipice,  and  flings  itself 
in  foam  into  the  St.  Lawrence;  where  the 
dark  clills  rise,  where  the  eddies  twirl  and 
twisi,  whore  the  spray  floats  upward  through 
the  span  of  its  rainbow  arch.  But  at  that 
moment  this  scene,  glorious  though  it  was, 
sank  into  insigniticance  ir  my  estimation  iu 
comparison  with  Marion.  I  will  take  it  for 
granted  that  the  reader,  like  ine,  finds  more 
interest  in  Marion  than  in  Montmorency, 
nnd  therefore  will  not  inflict  upon  him  any 
descriptiim  of  the  scene.  I  refer  him  to 
Byron's  lines  about  Veliuo.  They  apply 
with  equal  force  to  Montmorency. 

Well.     To  resume. 

We  wandered  about  Montmorency  for 
an  hour  or  more.  We  walked  over  the 
broad,  flat  ledges.  We  descended  deep 
slopes.  We  climbed  lofty  rocks.  I  helped 
her  over  every  im|>edimeut.  I  helped  her 
down.  I  helped  her  up.  She  had  to  take 
my  han<l  a  hundred  times  in  the  course  of 
that  scramble. 

There  w-as  an  informal  and  an  uncon- 


ventional character  about  such  proceedings 
as  these  vvhieli  did  much  toward  thawing 
the  crust  of  Mai  ion's  reserve.  She  evident- 
ly enjoyed  the  situation — she  enjoyed  the 
falls — she  enjoyed  the  rocky  ledges — she 
enjoyed  the  scramble — she  even  went  so 
far  on  one  occasion  as  to  show  something 
like  enthusiasm.  Nor  did  I,  in  the  delight 
of  that  time,  which  I  experienced  to  the 
most  vivid  degree,  ever  so  fiir  forget  my- 
self as  to  do  the  inipas.sioucd  in  any  shape 
or  way.  Whatever  was  to  be  the  final  re- 
sult, I  had  determined  that  this  day  should 
be  a  happy  one,  and,  since  Marion  objectcil 
so  strongly  to  the  intense  style,  she  should 
sec  nothing  but  what  was  simply  friendly 
and  companionable. 

IJut  it  was  a  hard  struggle.  To  sec  her 
i)eautiful,  animated  face — her  light,  agile 
form — to  feel  her  little  hand — to  hear  the 
musical  cadence  of  her  unecjuallcd  voice, 
and  yet  to  repress  all  undue  emotion.  By 
Jove  1  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  it  isn't  every 
fellow  who  could  have  held  out  as  long  as 
I  did. 

-Vt  last  we  had  exhausted  the  falls,  and 
we  went  back  to  the  little  inn  where  the 
horses  were  left.  We  had  still  over  an 
hour,  and  I  proposed  a  walk  to  the  river- 
bank.     To  this  Marion  assented. 

Wc  Bet  out,  and  I  led  the  way  toward 
that  very  cottage  where  I  had  taken  her  on 
that  memorable  occasion  when  I  first  met 
her.  I  had  no  purpose  in  this,  more  than 
an  irresistible  desire  to  stand  on  that  b.ank 
by  her  side,  anil,  in  company  with  her,  to 
look  over  that  river,  and  have  the  eyes  of 
both  of  us  simultaneously  looking  over  the 
track  of  our  perilous  journey.  And  still, 
even  with  such  a  purpose  as  this,  I  resolved 
to  discard  all  seutimcut,  and  maintain  only 
the  friendly  attitude. 

The  cottage  was  not  far  awuy,  and,  in 
a  short  time,  we  entered  the  gate  of  the 


Hf' 


/'•< 


i,:      ■ 


>.      if 


i 


i    ^ 


142 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


farm,  ami  fouml  ourselves  approaching 
it. 

As  wo  wi'nt  on,  a  suJJcn  change  came 
over  Marion. 

I'p  to  till-  time  of  our  entering  the  gate 
i^hc  liad  still  niaintuiiied  the  geniality  of 
manner  and  the  lightness  of  tone  which 
had  sprung  tip  during  our  wanderings  about 
tlic  fills.  Hut  here,  as  wo  came  within 
sight  of  the  cottage,  I  saw  her  give  a  sud- 
den start.  Then  she  stopped  and  looked 
all  around.  Then  she  gave  a  sudilen  look 
at  me — a  deep,  solemn,  earnest  look,  in 
which  her  dark,  lustrous  eyes  fastened 
themselves  on  mine  for  a  moment,  as 
though  they  would  read  my  very  soul. 

And  at  that  look  every  particle  of  my 
eommonplaec  tone,  and  every  particle  of 
my  resolution,  vanished  and  passed  away 
utterly. 

The  next  instant  her  eyes  fell.  We  had 
lioth  stojipcd,  and  now  stood  facing  one 
another. 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  I,  in  deep  agitation. 
"  I  thought  it  might  interest  you.  ]Jut, 
if  you  wish  it,  we  may  go  back.  Shall  we 
go  back,  or  shall  we  go  on  ?  " 

"As  you  please,"  said  she,  in  a  low 
voice. 

Wc  went  on. 

Wo  did  not  stop  at  the  cottage.  We 
passed  by  it,  walking  in  silence  onward 
toward  the  river-bank.  We  reached  it  at 
la.-t,  and  stood  there  side  by  side,  looking 
out  upon  the  river. 

We  wore  at  the  top  of  a  bank  which 
dcfcended  steeply  for  a  great  distance.  It 
was  almost  a  clilT,  only  it  was  not  rock, 
but  sandy  soil,  dotted  here  and  there  with 
patches  of  grass  anil  clumps  of  trees.  Far 
below  us  was  the  river,  whose  broad  bosom 
lay  spread  out  for  miles,  dotted  with  the 
white  sails  of  passing  vessels.  The  place 
where  we  stood  was  a  slight  promontory, 


and  comnianded  a  larger  and  more  extend- 
ed view  than  common.  On  the  left  and 
below  us  was  the  Ilo  d'Orlcans,  while  far 
away  up  the  river  Capo  Diamond  jutted 
forth,  crowned  by  its  citadel,  and,  eluster- 
iiig  around  it,  we  saw  tho  glistening  tin 
roofs  and  tapering  spires  of  Quebec.  But 
at  that  moment  it  was  neither  the  beauty 
nor  the  grandeur  of  this  wonderful  scene 
tliat  attraeteil  my  gaze,  but  ratlier  the  river 
itself.  My  eyes  fastened  themselves  on  that 
broad  expanse  of  deep  and  dark-blue  water, 
and  wandering  from  the  beach  beneath,  up 
the  liver,  to  the  shore  opposite  Quebec — 
many  a  mile  away — in  that  monient  all  tho 
events  of  our  memorable  journey  came 
back  before  me,  distinctly  and  vividly.  I 
stood  silent.  Marion,  too,  was  silent,  as 
tliough  she  also  had  the  same  thoughts  as 
those  which  fdled  me.  TIius  wc  both  stood 
in  silence,  and  for  a  long  time  our  eyes 
rested  upon  the  mighty  river  wliich  now 
rolled  its  vast  flood  beneatli  us,  no  longer 
ice-bound,  but  full  and  free,  the  pathway  for 
mighty  navies,  and  the  thoroughfare  of  na- 
tions. 

Now  I  was  able  to  grasp  the  full  and 
complete  reality  of  our  fearful  adventure. 
W(!  had  wandered  from  the  opposite  shore 
far  U])near  I'oint  Levi,  toiling  over  treach- 
erous ice,  which,  even  as  we  walked,  had 
moved  onward  toward  the  sea,  and  liad 
thus  borne  us  down  for  miles  till  we  at- 
tained the  shore  at  this  i)Iaee.  Looking 
at  the  river,  1  could  trace  the  pathway 
which  we  had  taken,  and  could  fix  the 
locality  of  every  one  of  those  events  wliich 
had  marked  that  terrible  journey — where 
t!ie  horse  ran — where  the  Fleigh  floated — 
where  I  had  drawn  it  to  the  ice — where  the 
iee-ridge  rose — where  we  had  clambered 
over — where  Marion  fell — till  finally  beside 
this  shore  I  could  see  the  place  where  that 
open  channel  ran,  near  which  she  had  fallen 


I 


'.! 


MY  OWN  AFFAIRS. 


143 


for  the  last  time,  when  I  liaJ  rni.scd  her  in 
my  ariiH  and  Ijopih'  her  hack  t(<  life.  And 
there,  toi),  behiw  us,  was  the  steep  bank  up 
which  I  had  borne  her — how  I  knew  not, 
but  in  some  way  or  other  most  certainly — 
till  I  found  refufje  for  her  in  tlio  hospitalile 
cottage.  At  tliis  last  I  looked  with  the 
strongest  emotion.  What  strength  must 
have  been  mine !  wliat  a  frenzied,  frantic 
effort  I  must  have  put  forth!  what  a  mad- 
ness of  resolve  must  have  nerved  my  limbs 
to  have  carried  her  up  such  a  place  as  that ! 
In  comparison  with  this  last  supreme  effort 
all  the  rest  of  that  journey  seemed  weak 
and  commonplace. 

Rousing  myself  at  last  from  the  profound 
abstraction  into  which  I  had  fallen,  I  turned 
and  looked  at  my  companion. 

She  was  standing  close  beside  me ;  her 
hands  hung  in  front  of  her,  closed  over  one 
another ;  her  head  was  slightly  bent  for- 
ward ;  her  eyes  were  opened  wide,  and  fixed 
Steadfastly  upon  the  river  at  the  line  which 
we  might  have  traversed  ;  and  there  was  in 
her  face  such  rapt  attention,  such  deep  and 
all-absorbed  meditation,  that  I  saw  her  in- 
terest in  this  scene  was  cipial  to  nunc.  Hut 
there  was  more  than  interest.  There  was 
that  in  her  face  which  showed  that  the  inci- 
dents of  that  journey  were  now  passing  be- 
fore her  mind  ;  her  face  even  now  assumed 
that  old  expression  which  it  had  borne  when 
first  I  saw  her — it  was  white,  horror-strick- 
en, and  full  of  fear — the  face  that  had  fixed 
itself  on  my  memory  after  that  day  of  days 
— the  face  of  niy  Lady  of  the  Ice. 

She  did  not  know  that  I  was  looking  at 
her,  and  devouring  her  with  my  gaze.  Her 
eyes  wandered  over  the  water  and  toward 
the  shore.  I  heard  her  ijuick  breathing, 
and  saw  a  sudden  shudder  p.iss  through 
her,  and  her  hands  clutch  one  another 
more  tightly  In  a  nervous  clasp,  as  she 
came  to  that  place  where  she  had  fallen 


last.  She  looked  at  that  spot  on  the  dark 
water  for  a  long  time,  and  in  visible  agita- 
tion. What  had  taken  place  niter  she  had 
fallen  she  well  knew,  for  I  had  told  it  all 
on  my  first  visit  to  her  house,  but  it  waa 
oidy  from  my  account  that  she  knew  it. 
Yet  here  were  the  vLsiljle  illustrations  of 
my  story — the  dark  river,  the  high,  pre- 
ci()itous  bank.  In  all  these,  as  in  all 
around,  she  could  see  what  I  had  done  for 
her. 

Suddenly,  with  a  start,  she  raised  her 
bead,  and,  turning,  looked  full  upon  me. 
It  was  a  wild,  eager,  wistful,  (piestioning 
look — her  largo,  lustrous  eyes  thrilled  mo 
through  with  their  old  power ;  I  saw  in  her 
face  something  that  set  my  heart  throbbing 
with  feverish  madness.  It  was  a  mute  ap- 
peal— a  fico  turneil  toward  me  as  though 
to  find  out  by  that  one  eager,  piercing, 
penetrating  glance,  something  that  she 
longed  to  know.  At  the  same  time  there 
was  visible  in  her  face  the  sign  of  another 
feeling  contending  with  this — that  same 
constraint,  ond  shy  apprehension,  and 
timidity,  which  had  so  long  marked  her 
manner  toward  me. 

And  now,  in  that  moment,  as  her  face 
thus  revealc<l  itself,  and  as  this  glance 
thrilled  through  me,  there  flashed  upon  my 
mind  in  a  moment  the  meaning  of  it  all. 
There  was  but  an  instant  in  which  she 
thus  looked  at  me — the  next  instant  a  flush 
passed  over  her  face,  and  her  eyes  fell,  but 
that  very  instant  I  snatched  her  hand  in 
both  of  mine  and  held  it. 

She  did  not  withdraw  it.  She  raised  her 
eyes  again,  ami  again  their  strange  ques- 
tioning thrilled  through  me. 

"  Marion,"  said  I,  and  I  drew  her  toward 
me.  Her  head  fell  forward.  I  felt  her 
hand  tremble  in  mine. 

"  Marion,"  said  I — lingering  fondly  on 
the  name  by  whicli  I  now  called  her  for 


144 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ICE. 


nil 

m 


m 


the  first  time — "if  I  ask  you  to  bo  mine — 
will  you  turn  away  y  " 

She  did  not  turn  nwny. 

She  raised  her  face  iipain  f(ir  n  moment, 
and  ag.iin  for  a  iiioniput  the  thriliiiif?  glance 
Hashed  from  her  deep,  dark  even,  and  a 
faint  spnle  of  heavenly  swcetncsB  beamed 
across  the  glory  of  her  Holemn  face. 

There ! 

I  let  the  curtain  drop, 

Tm  not  good  at  describing  love-sccncs, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thin;:,  you  know. 

What's  more,  1  don't  want  to  bo  cither 
good  or  great  at  that. 

For,  if  a  fellow  feels  like  a  fool,  you 
know,  when  he's  talking  spooney,  liow 
much  more  like  a  fool  must  he  feel  when 
he  sits  down  and  deliberately  writes  spoon- 
ey !  You  musn't  expect  that  sort  of  thing 
from  me  at  any  rate — not  from  Macrorie. 
I  can  feel  as  much  as  any  fellow,  but  that's 
no  reason  why  I  should  write  it  all  out. 

Another  point 

I'm  very  well  aware  that,  in  the  story 
of  my  love,  I've  gone  full  and  fair  against 
the  praetleo  of  the  novelist.  For  instance, 
now,  no  novelist  would  take  a  hero  and 
make  him  fall  in  love  with  a  girl,  no  mat- 
ter how  deueedly  pretty  she  might  be,  who 
had  been  in  love  with  another  fellow,  and 
tried  to  run  off  with  him.  Of  course  not. 
Very  well.  Now,  you  see,  my  dear  fellow, 
all  I've  got  to  say  is  this,  that  I'm  not  a 
novelist.  I'm  an  historian,  ai,  autobiog- 
rapher,  or  any  thing  else  you  choose.  I've 
no  imagination  whatever.  I  rely  on  facts. 
I  can't  distort  them.  And,  what's  more,  if 
I  could  do  so,  I  wouldn't,  no  matter  what 
the  taste  or  fashion  of  the  day  might  be. 

There's  a  lot  of  miserable,  carping  sneaks 
about,  whose  business  it  is  to  find  fault  with 
every  thing,  and  it  just  occurs  to  mc  that 
some  of   this  lot  may  take  it  into  their 


heads — notwithstanding  the /ic/.i,  mind  you 
— may  take  it  into  their  heads,  I  say,  to 
make  the  objection  that  it  is  unnatural, 
when  a  girl  has  already  been  so  madly  in 
love,  for  another  fellow  to  win  her  affections 
in  so  short  a  time.  Such  fellows  are  be- 
neath notice,  of  course ;  but,  for  the  benefit 
of  the  world  at  large,  and  humanity  in  gen- 
eral, I  beg  leave  to  suggest  a  few  important 
points  which  serve  to  account  for  the  above- 
mentioned  change  of  affection,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing : 

I.  The  mutability  of  humanity. 

II.  The  crushing  ell'eets  of  outrage  and 
neglect  on  the  strongest  love. 

III.  My  own  overwhelming  claims. 

IV.  The  daily  spectacle  of  my  love  and 
devotion. 

V.  My  personal  beauty. 

A' I.  The  unifoi-m  of  the  Hobtails. 
The  above,  I  think,  will  suffice. 

The  drive  back  was  very  different  from 
the  drive  down.  On  the  way  I  heard  from 
Marion's  own  lips  a  full  explanation  of 
many  of  those  things  which  had  been  puz- 
zling mc  for  the  last  two  months.  She  ex- 
plained all  about  the  crossing  of  the  river, 
though  not  without  some  hesitation,  for  it 
was  connected  with  her  infatuation  about 
Jack.  Still,  she  had  got  over  that  utterly, 
and,  as  I  knew  all  about  it,  and  as  she  had 
nothing  but  indifference  toward  him,  I  was 
able  to  get  an  explanation  from  her  without 
much  difficulty. 

It  seems,  then,  that  O'llalloran  had  for- 
bidden Marion  to  see  Jack,  but  she  was  in- 
fatuated about  him,  and  anxious  to  see  him. 
She  had  met  him  several  times  at  the  house 
of  a  friend  at  Point  Levi,  and  a  few  days 
before  that  eventful  journey  ()'IIalloran  had 
gone  to  Montreal.  At  the  same  time  Jack 
had  written  her,  telling  her  that  he  would 
be  over  there.    So  she  took  advantage  of 


\ 


\ 


C;UANI)  COXCLUSIOX. 


It". 


Ill  111. 
louse 
days 
hud 
Jiick 
ould 
c  of 


her  futli(>r'n  nlispncc  to  ro  over  on  a  visit, 
liopiiig  also  (I)  iiifct  with  Jack,  tint  Jack 
was  not  there  She  stavcil  as  long  us  she 
(hired,  and  Anally  had  to  return  8o  aa  to  bo 
homo  before  lier  fathor  pit  back.  Tiiis  was 
tho  day  of  the  -^torm.  She  had  mueh  dilH- 
ciiily  in  finding  a  driver,  but  at  length  sue- 
ceedeil  by  means  of  a  heavy  bribe.  Then 
followed  her  nionientous  meeting  with  me. 
Iler  departure  from  the  cottage  so  abruptly 
was  owing  to  iicr  intense  desire  to  get  home 
before  her  father  should  arrive.  This  she 
Hueeeeded  in  doing.  She  felt  deeply  grate- 
ful to  nie,  but  did  not  dare  to  take  any 
Hteps  to  show  gratitude,  for  fear  her  father 
would  hear  of  her  journey  to  Point  Levi. 
Nora  knew  about  it,  and  kept  her  secret 
from  O'llalloraii  most  faithfully.  Then 
came  my  arrival  upon  the  scene.  She  rec- 
ognized me  at  once,  and  as  r  oon  as  I  told 
my  story  Xora  recognized  me,  too,  as  Mar- 
ion's mysterious  ileliverer. 

They  held  counsel  together  after  leaving 
the  room,  and,  seeing  O'llalloran's  fancy  for 
me,  they  thought  I  might  often  come  again. 
They  saw,  too,  that  I  had  noticed  their  ngi- 
tatioii,  but  had  not  recogni/.ed  Marion. 
They  judged  that  I  would  suspect  them, 
and  so  Nora  volunteered  to  personate  the 
lady  so  as  to  save  Marion  from  that  out- 
burst of  indignati<in  which  was  sure  to  fall 
on  her  if  her  father  knew  of  her  disobe- 
dience. This,  then,  was  the  cause  of  No- 
ra's as.-uinption  of  a  false  jiart.  She  had 
told  some  plausible  story  to  O'llalloran 
which  satisGed  him  and  saved  Marion  ;  but 
her  peculiar  frank  and  open  nature  made 
her  inca|iablc  of  maintaining  her  part,  and 
also  led  to  my  absurd  proposal  to  her,  and 
its  consequences. 

Meanwhile  Marion  had  her  troubles.     She 

had  not  seen  Jack,  but  on  her  return  got 

his  frantic  letter,  proposing  an  elopement, 

and  threatening  to  blow  his  brains  out. 

10 


She  answered  this  as  we  have  seen.  After 
this,  she  heard  all  about  Jack's  lovc-allairs, 
and  wrote  to  him  on  the  subject,  lit,'  an- 
swered by  another  proiiosal  to  elope,  and 
reproaclu'd  her  with  being  the  cause  of  his 
ruin.  This  reproach  stung  her,  and  filled 
her  with  remorse.  It  was  not  so  much  love 
as  the  desperation  of  self-reproach  which 
had  led  to  her  foolish  consent.  So  at  the 
appointed  time  she  was  at  the  place;  but 
instead  of  Jack — there  was  nuilo  another 
person. 

Of  course,  I  did  not  get  all  the  above 
from  her  at  that  time.  Some  of  it  she  told  ; 
Ijut  the  rest  came  out  long  al'terwanl. 
F.ong  afterward  I  learned  from  her  own 
dear  lips  how  her  feelings  changed  toward 
me,  especially  on  that  night  when  I  saved 
her  and  brouglit  her  home.  Jack  became 
first  an  object  of  contempt,  then  of  iiuHHer- 
encc.  Then  she  feared  that  I  would  despise 
her,  and  tried  to  hold  aloof.  Desjiiso 
her  ! ! ! : ! 

All  this,  and  a  thousand  other  things, 
came  out  afterward,  in  the  days  of  our 
closer  association,  when  all  was  explahied, 
and  Marion  hud  no  more  secrets  to  keej) 
from  me,  and  I  had  none  from  her. 


ClIArTER    XXXVIII. 

oiiAXD    coNci-rsios.  —  wEnniNQ-niscs    asi> 
n.iLL-niNGS. — ST.  MALAfni's. — oi.n  fi.etch- 

KU  IN  IMS  (ILOItV. — NO  HlMUrtl  THIS  TIME. 
— MESSAOES  .SENT  EVEnYWHEUE. — ALL  THK 
TOWN  AGOa. — QUEUEC  ON  THE  IlAMl-AOE. 
— ST.  MALACni's  CnAMMEn.  —  (iALLERIES 
CIlOWriEl). — WHITE  KAVOUS  EVEKVWIIEllE. — 
THE  Winow  HAri'V  WITH  THE  CHAPLAIN. — 
THE    DOVnLE    WEliniNO.  —  FIIIST    COITLE — 

JACK  AND  LOUIE  !— second  ditto— 
MACUORIE  AND  MARION  !— colonel 
bertos  and  o'halloran  oivino  away  the 


140 


TIIK  LADY  OK  Till':   ICK. 


imiliKS.  — STIUNdK  Asf.-OCIATION  OK  nii: 
imiriHII  OfFICEK  AND  Tilt  FENIAN. — JACK 
AND  MArnnillE,  LoIIE  and  MAUKl.N.— IMIIUKH 
AM)  lllllliK(ill(IHMS. — KPITIIAI.A.MllM.  —  W  ED- 
I'lXO  IN  moil  LIFE.— SIX  OFTICUTINOCLER- 
tiVMKN. — ALL  THE  ELITE  OF  mEIlEC  TAKE 
TAUT. — ALL  THE  CLEr.OV,  ALL  THE  MII.ITAIIV, 
AND  EVEKYUODV  WHO  AMOINT.S  TO  ANY 
TIIINli. — THE    llA.Mi    HF    THE    IIOIITAILH    PIS- 


COLIISISH  SWEET  MISIC,  AMI  ALL  THAT  SOHT 
OF   Till  Nil,  Yor    KNOW. 

»>N  icailiiij;  over  the  ahove  hcniliiii;,  I  find 
it  80  very  coiiiprclioiisive  tlmt  it  leave!!  notli- 
ing  inoru  for  inc  to  siiy.  I  will  tlierel'ori' 
make  my  how,  and  retire  I'lom  the  scene, 
witli  my  warnie:<t  eoiipatuKitioiis  to  tlie 
reader  at  rcaeliiug 


n 


'k 


Tin:    EM>. 


(13  .li 


roriLAl!  WORKS  OF  riCTlON 

rt'ui.i.si(i:i>  MY 

3D.     -A.  P»  I>  LET  O  KT      Sz     OO., 

UO,  U'i  a>  U4  tiraml  St.,  \vif  Vorlc. 


APPLETONS'  ILLUSTRATED  LIBRARY  OF  ROMANCE. 

In  unirorm  octavo  volumes, 
Handsomely  illustrated,  and   bound  either  In  paper  covers,  or  In  muslin. 

I»rloo,    ill    I'apor.   S1.00;    in   Cloth,   ir41.n(.». 

•,•  In  this  si'fics  of  Ronmnce*  lire  inchulcd  the  rinioua  novel:)  of  LOUIi'A 
Ml'llMlACII.  Since  the  time  wiien  Sir  Walter  Si'utt  proihieed  m  profounil  a  9en:>ii- 
tion  ill  the  remlinK-world,  no  iiistorital  novels  have  uehieved  a  success  w  ijrent  m 
those  I'min  the  pen  of  Miss  Mriii.iiACii. 

1.  TOO  STRANGE  NOT  TO  BE  TRUE.    A  Novel.    By  Lady  Ooorffiana 

Fullerton. 

2.  THE  CLEVER  WOMAN  OF  THE  FAISULY.    By  Miss  Yonge.  au- 

thor  of  "The  Heir  of  Redclyffe,"  "Heartsease,"  tttc. 

8.  JOSEPH  II.    AND   HIS  COURT.    By  Louisa  Muhlbach. 

4.    FREDERICK  THE   GREAT  AND  HIS  COURT.    By  Louisa  Motal- 

bach. 
6.    BERLIN  AND  SANS-SOUCI ;  or,  FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND 

HIS  FRIENDS.    By  Louisa  Muhlbach. 

6.  THE   MERCHANT   OF   BERLIN.    By  Louisa  Muhlbach. 

7.  FREDERICK    THE    GREAT    AND    HIS    FAMILY.       By    Louisa 

Muhlbach. 
6.    HENRY   Vni.    AND   CATHARINE   PARR.     By  Louisa  MulUbach. 

9.  LOUISA   OF  PRUSSIA  AND   HER   TIMES.    By  LouUii  Muhlbach. 

10.  MARIE   ANTOINETTE   AND   HER   SON.    By  Louisa  Muhlbach. 

11.  THE   DAUGHTER   OF   AN  EMPRESS.    By  Louisa  Muhlbach. 

12.  NAPOLEON  AND  THE   QUEEN   OF   PRUSSIA.    By  Louisa  Muhl- 

bach. 

13.  THE   EMPRESS   JOSEPHLNE.    By  Louisa  Muhlbach. 

14.  NAPOLEON  AND  BLUCHER.    Au  Historical  Romance.    By  Louisa 

Muhlbach. 

IB.    COUNT    MIRABEAU.    An  Historical  Novel.    By  Theodor  Mundt. 

16.  A  STORMY  LIFE.    A  Novel.    By  La'    /  GeorRiona  Fullerton,  a'>thor 

6f  "Too  Strange  not  to  be  True. 

17.  OLD   FRITZ   AND   THE  NEW   ERA.    By  Louisa  Muhlbach. 

18.  ANDREAS  HOFER.    By  Louisa  Muhlbach. 

19.  DORA.    By  Julia  Kavanagh. 

20.  JOHN    MILTON    AND    HIS    TIMES.    By  Max  Ring. 

21.  BEAUMARCHAI3.    An  Historical  Tale.    By  A.  E.  BrachvoffcL 

22.  GOETHE  AND  SCHILLER.    By  Louisa  Muhlbach. 

23.  A   CHAPLET   OP   PEARLS.    By  Miss  Yonire. 


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D-  Apjilcton  cO   Compani/\<i  PuhUcations. 


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111 


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W.  Arthur. 

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AMERICAN    NOTES 104.16 

DOMBEY    &  SON 366.36 

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LITTLE    DORRIT 330.  36 

PICKWICK    PAPERS 326    36 

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CHRISTMAS    STORIES 162.  26    OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP.... 221    30 


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HARD  TIMES,  and  ADDI- 
TIONAL  CHRISTMAS 

STORIES 200.  26 

NICHOLAS    NICKLEBY...340    36 


SKETCHES 103    26 

OREAI    EXPECTATIONS. .184.. 25 
UNCOMBIEBCLAL    TRAV- 
ELLER,    PICTURES 
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